You always greet me with a kiss, (and that smile)
we talk away hours, over food – in bed.
I know each edge of your body just as well as your wife,
and it’s not like I never ask about her.
I wear Jean Paul Gautier, for men
so you can still smell of me
and I might pretend I smell of you on the weekend.
I wipe the lipstick off your cheek,
save birthday memoirs to your phone.
Pay for my own taxi home.