In (fidelity)

I was refreshing my email,
texting, daydreaming,
and throwing off waves
of fuck-off —
because I’d been
the referee
in the recent games of
household war so often
I ran out and bought the
black-and-white-striped shirt —
when he turned down the radio
and turned off the ignition.

I braced myself for
whatever damn thing
he was going to say
that I was going to have to
add to my to-do list.  

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I dropped my phone, and lurched against my seatbelt a little,
because I didn’t think I heard him right

so I went ‘uh?’  

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Oh, and you’re smokin'.”

If we hadn’t been parked in
front row of a busy store,
I’d have dropped his seat and
fucked him before
he had a chance to tilt the
steering wheel.

He said he knows there’s
something bizarre and
emotional
going on with me,
so he’s trying...

and he knows I want to hear it,
that I have a great ass,
that I’m the best thing...

(breathe)

We held hands in the toothpaste aisle.
We held hands later that night,
his arms wrapped around my middle,
his chin in my shoulder,
our damp skin sticking
against each other.

As he fell asleep
truly content,
I was restless,

thinking that for some fucking reason
you can see through me,
like I’m a cut-glass vase
holding nothing more
important than a shock of
wilted wild daisies

thinking he is
vaguely aware there
is something
‘emotional’
going on with me.

and the whole thing is just so
fucked up
and unfair.

I love him. Simply.
I crave you like bad candy.
I hate myself.

because
some days I don’t
feel like
the infidelity
is to him