An Affair

You rub knees in the restaurant.
The others dont seem to notice.
You enjoy that. Its easy.
Easy peasy kneesy.

You drink, make each other laugh late,
You seize the opportunity for animality
in this rather grim position of formality.
You stumble to your hotel room
then you’re naked,
she’s wearing only a leather belt,
which enhances the theatricality.

You’re hungover and spent.
She says she’d like to do that again.
You hear yourself saying you would too.
You exchange numbers.
Is that what you really meant?

You go home to wife and husband.
You go to a phone box.
You’re already working
on the whiteness of lies.
She invents a weekend conference.
Its no surprise, fits.
You invent delays one Friday,
You’re tired and the drive’s too long sadly,
but not too long for her,
she needs it so badly.

She wears silks, scent
You trim your nose-hair
draw in your belly.
You meet in the middle of some other land
where there’s nothing but discretion.
You need a bed so badly,
an arena, somewhere gladiatorial.
You search for a hotel.
Price doesn’t matter,
nothing else matters
you need it so badly.
You must couple.Its destined
and its become conspiratorial.

She greets her big old friend.
You drink at the cup of her universe.
You both take brandy, steam rises,
staff are sent away,
silk is stained, cotton sullied
you are pink and chafed with rubber,
you rest, you go to eat unwashed
keeping the smell that links you,
you rub knees under the table
you’re at it again
you need it so badly
you’d suffer any pain gladly.

You say you’re not in love.
You drive her to her car
her perfume lingers for weeks
on the passenger seatbelt.
You wash it like Lady Macbeth
taking the strain now,
a sense of approaching death.

You do it again
and then another time
nothing else matters
You’ll drive further and further for it
You are driven.
She’s driven
a coach and horses
through you
and you need it so badly
you’ll drive anywhere.
She will too.

You are raw
You use creams to heal your member.
She writes you a driven message.
Her husband finds it,
phones one chilly dawn.
Its November.

You meet him,
talk, lover to cuckold.
His name is Bill, a bank manager,
He doesn’t knife you,
he asks about his wife
You talk about your kids, football,
where to get his car spares,
what she’s like, what to do
about this sorry state of affairs.
You part benign, almost drinking friends.
It is the end.

Your wife asks where you were.
You tell her.
You need to tell her so badly.

The family Christmas that year
is a little strained, sadly.























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