Him

In this champagne, changing
black tie embrace
of an affair, he might press
blue lips to my parched mouth
and there will be certain passion
for both of us...
I cannot fall away from him
and i drink in his intellectual
sex-heat as he swishes his ale
in taverns of past history.
We spin into intricate, delicate
gasping breaths of heat
It's spring in Connecticut
his white collared shirts
lie askew on teak bedroom floor.