Unprecious

I look down at your head between my legs

and really, I could replace you with anyone.

Your brown curls are not precious to me

(generic in their boyishness),

and neither are your eyes:

you blink, and I’ve forgotten them already.

You are precious to a mother I’ll never meet,

and to girlfriends past and future, no doubt –

But you are not precious to me.

You are nervous as you guide me to bed,

half-hearted in your hand-wringing desire.

You fuck me and I’m ambivalent, it’s whatever.

Afterwards you beg me to stay.

You say I’m your nymph, your goddess,

a vision, whatever comes to mind.

The girl inside me giggles, and the woman in me laughs.

Of course I’m going home to my own bed.

Like sleep to a tired body, you are precious,

like an unclouded sky, calm and lacking

any temperament of wind, you are precious –

But you are not precious to me.