expose

your silk skirts are ragged tonight.
there are spirits on your breath
and spite on your lips
and all the glitter has been rubbed away from your eyes.

i shouldn't be surprised that
the scuffs on your skin
grow more livid by the night
or that other men have discovered your spine-secrets,
the ones i thought might be hidden in the dark.
i shouldn't be surprised that
the whispers i traced round your hips
are worth nothing
compared to the fervent signatures
your other lovers left,
the scrawl of their bones on yours.

and i shouldn't be caught off guard
when i remember that
we are an echo, a murmur,
a promise shattered -
that my sheets have never known you
and i'm left grasping at the emptiness beside me
because never once have i woken
and found you there.

but the saving grace belongs to me.
i can always remember to forget that
you belong to whoever bids highest
and when you're slipping beneath my skin
with those sly seaglass eyes
and cello's curves
your secrets are mine
and i am left wanting for nothing.