No No

You're past the point
where you want them all
to tell you everything.
Sordid secrets
whispered in cloakrooms
the details of their affairs.
Some tell you when they're drunk
understandable, tongues loose
with oily truth - but some
are stone cold, measuring out
cool as scientists with test tubes
see the colour of infidelity,
how it changes in the heat?
You used to think it a sign
some quality in you
that drew them out
but you're not trustworthy
blabbing things for years
making nicknames
of their indiscretions
with your friends.
Park Bench Man
that unlikely Threesome At The Pool.
And somehow it's been stopping you
for each thing told becomes no-no
and now you don't have fun.
You can't have oral sex
with a stranger in a club
or fuck on the bonnet of your boss's Merc.
Everything's been done
and frankly that pisses you off.