with my chin.
are you sleeping, i ask her.
my hand
on her hip, reaching
down to make
a soft circle on her thigh.
almost, she says, not quite,
but not tonight, okay.
maybe tomorrow morning.
or maybe this weekend.
plus i have a headache.
and i'm worried about work
and my parents getting old.
and my unemployed son.
didn't we just do it last week?
i think this house might
have mold, she says, rubbing
her nose.
i've had this stitch in my
side too, have i told you
about that?
the doctor thinks it's
probably nothing,
but you never know, it might
be kidney stones.
so, maybe this weekend,
okay? sunday night?
say around seven, after the news.
i roll back over and sigh.
remembering the good old days,
the single life.
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