WHY DON'T YOU SAY

Why don't
you say you love me,

the way you did
those days
of wine and roses

before we
were married?

You never buy me
roses anymore.

You are too busy
climbing the ladder
at your treacherous
office.

Every night
we sleep together
in the same
bed.

When you say
the word, your penis
inside me, softening
and hardening,

shadows flickering
on the ceiling,
our hands and lips
having lit the fire,