The Cycle
The menstrual cycle. It's called that
because us men have to ride it.
Yes means no, it's ok is not ok.
I'm fine. Obviously you're not.
Tautologically speaking, you are.
Once the male climbs on, he never
gets off. He learns to tell the time
by riding it. "Your dinner's in the dog."
Ah, day seventeen. "I love you!"
Day nineteen, the oasis.
I pause for breath. Ovulation day,
what a relief! I coast along on a
warm, sunny bridleway of love and
unfettered affection, freewheeling
into a cataclysmic orgasmic apocalypse
of attempted implantation.
Wtf? So to speak. Grumpy isn't
the word. She prefers her eggs scrambled,
it seems. Glaring at me like a praying
mantis, I look away, shuddering inwardly,
hoping that she can't smell the fear...
I love her. Period.