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.