Revenge

Revenge.

There is something in the air
when she leaves the room
and you let fly
the hem of your dress,
crossing your naked feet under you,
setting your hips into the couch.

Lengthening your neck
with interest,
your back straight,
playing with the hair on your cheek
I have to look away
at a pattern on the wall.
Anywhere but those thin lips of yours,
your eyes full of recent hurt.

I see the last bone
in the small of your back,
dimpling the plaster,
Anywhere but the soft pleats
of your skirt,
the basket flesh of your open thighs
daring me to fill the space between us

Did I tell you how lousy men were
while I spoke in circles about
your dark garage, my love,
your best friend,
in the next room?

I know you're reaching -
trying to melt the ice
after five months of his fire.
It feels good, I'm sure,
to see a man's face again,
to watch his color rise,
to play his desires with the tiniest
broken bone of your left hand,
the rest of you sealed and determined,
every bit a woman
holding on.