It Is Early One Morning

It is early one morning, and you are making love to me. Sunshine is streaming through the curtains and I am disinterested in your ministrations. I wonder if we could ever be soft people. Lazily enjoying the sunshine, stretched out on our picnic blanket. There is a plate of sandwiches between us, half of them have been eaten. We are comfortably full, and you don’t take it the wrong way. There is a pitcher of sweet tea, you tell me you found it tangled up in the roots of your family tree. You lean in to kiss me, and it is gentle and you don’t use your tongue. You feel like August, you know. One glorious ending to a beautiful summer. But the summer was hot and humid I was nothing if not miserable, but I’ll always miss the summer we spent together, sunburnt to hell with your hand upon my throat. You are mad at me, I cannot perform in the way you wish, you cry and blame yourself It’s because you are not pretty enough, Not feminine enough. you say this is important the ultimate way to express our love I close my eyes and dare to wonder When did love become so violent?