Upside-Down

As he sat on the edge of the bed,

bent to retrieve hastily discarded clothes,

I would run my finger

down his spine, bump by bump,

to the line where brown back

met white buttocks

and press my palms

against smooth flesh.

His back would straighten,

so my finger roller-coaster 

would disappear.

He’d turn and smile,

reach out his hand to touch my hair.

I’d kneel behind him, knees wide,

my breasts against his shoulder blades,

run my hands together over his silky naked chest,

feel the outline of the muscles down his stomach,

he’d flinch and say it tickled

until I reached down.

There is a man in my house,

so unlike my golden boy.

He sags and drags himself around,

his smile turns the other way,

as does the rest of him.