Her panties in his pocket,
her lipstick smiling on his collar.
He sniffs under his armpit – smells of her all day.
He’s a dog, drooling at her absence.
Refuses to take a shower, so as not to wash off
The bra and the chandelier, the shirt and the armchair,
the earrings hanging from the speaker’s ears.
The sheet and everything that oozed from them
(a cocktail of love’s juices).
He remembers their love positions and gets hard-on.
He knows there’s no perfect murder,
nor a perfect adultery.
We always leave traces behind,
especially the love-nuts.
It ain’t going like this – he tells himself,
I neglected work, family,
relatives, neighbours, the whole world.
Then he calls her and says:
“Take your clothes off, I’m coming.”