Fleeing Reality

She and I are lovers
more, or less, indeed
searching out tomorrow
where the route may lead,
Down winding corridors
of academia
back-alley destitutes
which we could be,

In a different life
a different universe
but we are who we are
for better, or for worse,
And here we are this morning
in some bed, somewhere
her’s is tangled blonde
and mine is short grey hair,

I run my hand through it
and hold it with a fist
as lips press together
eagerly we kiss,
Each time like the first
or last time, we make love
sometimes oh so gentle
but usually push and shove,

She says she’s quit smoking
but afterward she does
standing there naked
on the porch, a view I love,
I make two cappuccinos
and meet her back in bed
can tell I’m not yet satisfied
and sucks my eager head,

Until I ejaculate
and speak her name aloud
she drinks her cappuccino
disappears in the crowd,
As we return to normal
whatever that might be
once or twice a week
as reality we flee,