Most evenings you offer your feet to stroke.
I always oblige.
Yet even after ten years of marriage,
I still don’t understand the exchange rate.
Just how many foot strokes must I give you
Before you might reciprocate the physical contact?
When you occasionally do it is rarely spontaneous.
First wait till bed
Then take of all your makeup
And if possible do it in the dark
So I cannot see you and you cannot see me.
I no longer dare to ask out loud
Since your no is so final,
While your “Maybe” may give me false hope.
I just want as you unwind watching television.
You battle to stay awake until your so exhausted
You fall asleep.
How can you prefer late night television to me?
Then you offer those three words as you get into bed
“I’m knackered”, my heart sinks.
I know we both owe our lifestyle to your long hard working days, But I am tired of being tired all the time,
As you said there must be more to life than this.
I could understand if our bodies were not in tune with each other on the rare occasions when you give them a chance.
During the increasingly long inbetweens,
I ache for you.
Not for sex but for sex with you.
A sexless Saturday night doesn’t really bother you
Because there will be plenty more.
But to me it’s another week without you,
And weeks quickly turn into months.
Have I simply “served my purpose”?
Once I plucked up the courage to ask if sex was important to you.
You said it was.
Perhaps it is just less important to you than to me.