Cupid's bow is bent back
In the shape of your lips
Stealing my breath.
But there is no
Trigger-happy cherub
Hovering above,
Just the dust kicked up
From under the bed.
When all is done
Not all is said,
So we lay there
Lulling each other to sleep.
You, atop a pile of pillows
Like an ancient princess,
And I at your side, a slave
Eunuch who didn't make the cut.