See, you were meant to be an intermission
in between our marriages and life.
I thought you’d be a friend in the transition;
I always knew I wouldn’t be your wife
(I don’t excel at living with a man).
I liked you fast, and soon assigned a role
for you, to frolic and to help me plan,
but we were neither under my control.

Now we have something I don’t really want
and can’t describe and haven’t thrown away.
There’s food for thought and attitudes that taunt,
but indignation’s carrying the day.
Our tug-o-war has gotten too complex,
when all I aimed for was a little sex.