The street stands still and distracts

my driving. I miss

the exit to your house

and add another mile or so.

It’s fine, though. It’s old hat

at this point.

Arrival.

I see you standing in the doorway

wearing the silk nightgown we ordered

last week.

It leaves little to the imagination.

Your animated smirk says “I’m ready”,

your eyes conceal the truth.

You greet me with a playful “hey, tiger”,

and I still don’t have the heart to tell you

how much I detest “tiger” as a pet name.

Your kiss tastes of gin and lime.

I prepare myself for imminent sadness.

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