Numb

Nancy’s numb.
Her word,
Not mine.

COVID claimed
Her mom.
Dementia stole
Her dad.

Month from Hell,
Now
Orphaned.

Back in our home.
Back in our bed.
Cuddle.
Cry.
Whisper.
Drift.
Silence.
Together.

Predawn Nature’s call.
Her feet cold from tile floor.
She steals my warmth
Under the covers
And finds a
Surprise of
Morning wood.

A soft hand to caress
And inquire,
Her duty
More than desire.

Wet lips do kiss
Firm tongue
Does stroke.
What may come?

With tender
Hope
For passionate
Pleasure,
She takes me deep
And grinds
Us
Together.

Despite her numb
And wounded
Heart,
She rides
Me hard
To feel again
Desire and
Want.

But each exertion
For carnal lust
Cannot ignite
Our libidinal
Fire.

Her silver tears
Fall through
Cascading tresses
Of weeping
White hair
To land
Upon
My cheeks.

“I cannot
Cum.”
She cries.
As her hips
Silence.

“Nor can I.”
Soft and
Slipping
Apart,
Tearful, too.

We clutch.
And cry.

Nancy’s numb.
Her word.
And mine.