You did pillow talk,
keeping your voices low
so the kids couldn't hear
the sex. There was none.
No breaking of your vows
of silence. Doris Day,
marvelling at your straightened pinkie,
was in on the joke.
Nobody heard the sex.
In the darkness and the silvered hush
hands, fumbling under shirts
and projections, find a gasp.
Denim, forced tight, springs open
like a man trap. I have never felt
such excitement. The man in front
says keep it down, but we've come
and it is all over the screen.
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