April 3rd

I write erotica in the small of the night's back
sweat between fingers
"don't look at what I'm typing"
when he slips in
next to me

"someone has to say it" he says but I say
"I can't say it" until maybe after the next appointment,
next lidocaine prescription,
next physical therapy,
next injection,
next surgery,
next, fuck, those nexts.

this is really the way I've claimed myself-

I wanted to say to him
if we can never have sex
I can write that other people have sex

why do you think I write poetry at all