Borrowed Mattress

I grabbed her hips—
she bit my lip hard enough
to make me squirm, but soft
enough to leave no trace
of herself on my skin.
Heavy breath poured from
young lungs and twisted up—
intertwined—following suit, our
legs buried beneath the sheets.
It was that time of night, the time
when I like to be sound
asleep; the time when she’d have
thought about it too.
Not my hands or her teeth
or the mess of our legs,
it was just that time. And we’d had this
same night, three nights in a row,
and I had to say it before she
had to leave for good. Maybe
it was because of the way I like my books—
with clean pages and clean endings.
This weekend, our weekend,
deserved the same.

Dominic Shaw