Sated

[EmilyJune519]

She does kegels for him.
Three daily sets of ten,
while she’s behind the desk at school or work,
in traffic or brushing her teeth.

They smoke and eat pizza in bed,
kissing with greasy tongues.
They come with her on top,
pulled tight into his chest.
Appetites earned, they wake to growling bellies.
“What’s for dinner?” he asks.
She worries about her waist,
but relents when he mentions burgers and shakes.
At midnight, she’ll fry potato
with onion and garlic and parsley.

She never gave in easy.
She never watched sports or apologized.
She tolerates things she never did.
Not the porn or reckless driving,
but the faucet left to run,
his tardiness and flirtatiousness.

She never felt sexy.
She never cried over a man before,
never felt an ache crawl from her chest
to her throat and stomach.
She was never sated.
But with the buttered French toast
and his grip on her thigh,
she is voracious, sexy in her gluttony.