No Vampires

It is not what I expected There is no screaming (Unless he tickles me) There is no fist clenched chest punching I have not been lifted Unconscious out of a bath of My own blood Sometimes I cry and he holds me There are no vampires This is not an addiction Sometimes we watch Doctor Who And sometimes we **** on hotel beds like there’s no tomorrow There is always a tomorrow Sometimes I slide his hand Up my skirt And he says ‘Not now Baby, I’m tired’ And sometimes he finds my hair grips Down the side of his bed On his desk On the windowsill In his pockets This love isn’t poetry It is not thinning paper with Bleeding ink Nor dying trees with names carved Into their bones It is concrete It is calendars filled with plans It is hands in each other’s pockets and my lipstick Smile staining his pillow.