I like how we need different things after love making.

While I steep like a tea bag in pleasure, you are a kettle,

Once the steam has blown, you lay there, whistling.

I wanna bustle, hustle, clean and tidy.

Not for anyone, after being touched and entered and feasted on,

I give some tender time to myself.

Fat, thick cookies in the oven,

Sudsy dishes in the sink,

The sun hurts my eyes from the window.

I am like a kitty cat, licking its paws, asking for distance.

Even after all that welcomed pleasure,

I soak up the break.