Bare and, Finally, Regretful

One man made me long for children, which I am unable to concieve. This is the story of that first pang of desire...

 

‘Biology,’ she said,

      ‘is nothing more than

           clocks,’ – and I must

admit now,

love, that on

Sunday night

         when we woke up

I felt (for the first time) that absence.

 

‘It’d be smart,’ you said,

        ‘our kid,’ and I hurled

      myself further into those

            looming blue miles. And

 

for all the power

          I may have gained

 or all the words I might have

said, I felt those pulling, inside

   tears one

 early morning in your bed;

      and no longer,

now,

            am I to claim disconnection

    with my tubes and sex –

 

Can it be?

            Is this tame?

A new (to me) kind of craving