Mid-Coitus Considerations

Early morning in March on Spring Break:
role over and she's there and she makes
the request and the mechanics of stimulation
go into effect and the sheathing and the slow breath
rear-entry penetration and the slow movement
slow breathing all in and towards the it.

She breathes into the sheets, quiet breaths
there's no one else in the house she had said
I wonder about it as rubber and flesh
stir liquids and that all-desirous nothing
seeps from white torso, bent legs, hidden face,
hair by the sheets moaning.

Mid-coitus and I look away, still acting,
but then I begin noticing the clay pots
on the sill, opposite side of the room
resting in the morning shadow, small
clay pots. And I wonder when they were
put there, their contents, their intent as
decor or utility.

Rubber and motion
these coated joys toward nothing,
continuous mechanics.
Clay pots counted, and morning shadows.
Fucking bored.