by Quentin Huff

He poured it in her ear, the idea

of him on top, slowing time down
to enter her, convincing her
that everything would stay between them,
with his back to the air
and her bottom on the mattress,
their motions surrounded by
the smell of love and fabric softener.

She wanted him behind her, a position
of trust, tossing aside suspicions
of what he might do behind her back
and how easily he could hide
who else he might be thinking of.

But he did not want to look over her shoulder,

he wanted to be in her eyes,
moving his hips in slow clock-

making the cold stone expression
on her face crumble.
She'd been wearing her countenance that way

since the first day they met,
after one lover refused to stay inside her
and another was so indecisive, she was forced
to mount the problem and dominate.

But no more.

And she cried because he did everything
he said he would do to her
but when he was finished, he did not leave.