Kissing her is like

licking jelly off a knife

when nobody can see.

 

I think this while returning

to bed, hoping 

for a last kiss

to escape the question

why did I do it

but all I see

 

is her lying there

one hand teasing the shoreline of the sheet

the other tickling the face of her phone

looking as if nothing even happened.

 

People think the guilt is the hard part

but those who know

know it’s coming home

to the comfort of routine:

The flashbacks of clinched sheets

and laughter and darkness and fumbling

interrupting the description

of workday drama and a schoolhouse fight.

 

You might think the risk of getting caught is the hard part

but the hard part is being caught

between why did I do it

and when can I do it again