Bedfellows

I can’t believe we’re here again.

We stare intensely at each other.
But,
we’re not actually seeing anything.
There’s nothing more to look at,
nothing to be said.
The same story has been told one too many times.
We’re caught in a perpetual charade of power dynamics.
Me: thinking I am the master,
Him: knowing that he holds the controls.
Many things are being transmitted across the room.
No words, just the silent void of disappointment for one
and delight for the other.

Communication has never been more clear.
We’re engaged again in a battle of wills.
Who will give in first and interrupt the quiet?
I don’t want to surrender.
I already threw in the towel.
I refuse to pick it up and wave the white flag.
But,
we can’t live like this, nor can we die here;
someone has to make a move.

The longer I look at those big eyes,
the more my heart softens.
I become sympathetic to the cause.
I succumb to the pleading look.
With a deep sigh, I climb in bed.
Immediately he slides over, arm on my thigh
I’m coated in the slobber of a sloppy kiss.
My fierce adversary has again defeated me.
Tomorrow I might win the war,
but tonight my victor will enjoy the spoils of a shared bed
and endless ear scratches.
A man’s best friend is my greedy bedfellow.
A small price to pay, I suppose, for unconditional love.

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