VACANCY

002

I painted my nails today, dark red (the colour of love). It’s the sort of detail you always miss. Sometimes I prepare myself for you - long showers, smooth skin, lotions and perfumes and polishes and makeup and little lacy things - but you rarely notice. I know it isn’t because you don’t love me, but. Sometimes it hurts anyway. Sometimes I want you to appreciate the effort I put into making myself for you. Sometimes I want romance.

But you rip off my clothes, greedy and starving for skin. You tear down my hard work. You only notice the scents after they have been diluted, clouded, mixed with the smell of sex, ruined.

Maybe I am too sensitive. I take out my anger at you in bed, nails in your back and teeth in your shoulder and jaw clenched and wet eyes. I grip the bedframe until my knuckles go white. I slam my body into yours with animal madness. You think I am carried away by lust. Wrong current. I am carried away by frustration.

I can never voice these thoughts. I can never find the words.

You talk like Marlene Dietrich 

And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire

Your clothes are all made by Balmain 

And there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are 

I am too much of a secret romantic. You are too practical, utilitarian.