Rules of Making Tea.

I approached and curled my hand around your waist,
you were making a sandwich.
I stood back and gave you space.
I asked you in the kitchen,
in your lunch break
covered in cow shit
or maybe horse poo
stinking of it too.
‘What do you like about me?’
I was afraid to ask but I did,
afraid to hear your answer,
but hoped you’d say something romantic,
profound, horny or even just cute.
Instead you squirmed uncomfortably,
I could have guessed.
You took a bite, and hoped I’d go away
or at least change the subject,
but I waited, hoping to hear more
than the joint clicking in your jaw.
I wondered where your hands had been today
around another waist?
Sliding over another’s belly?
No….well unless they belonged to a pregnant sow.
You saw I was going nowhere,
fixed to the spot and waiting.
Why did you find it so difficult to answer?
I heard your breathing,
knee against the cupboard door
and clink as you stirred your tea.
My tummy rumbled, throat parched
wondering why you never asked
if I’d like tea too?
Maybe it’s a stupid question to ask
I’m sure it is,
I really have no clue about what to say
or how to be with another
Is it the worst question to ask?
Worst ever?
Well yes, it said something about my own
naivety and insecurity.
It was over ten years ago now
not that that’s an excuse
probably why I’m single,
and still have no idea about love
and intimacy
and rules of making tea.
You rarely made eye contact
only when you penetrated me
then you really watched
as I let go,
surrender to your push,
pleasure at my annoyance
that I was not allowed to be on top
switch polarity so to speak.
You didn’t want to surrender,
be reminded of times you were weak,
instead you vicariously enjoyed my submission.
You barely looked up, chewed then swallowed your bite,
‘I like the way you are with the dog, you said
how you play with her.’
That’s the only answer I got,
well I did ask.
