Betrayal

So I guess now the question is: is it me you’re thinking of when our tongues are fucking? As your hands are on my hips, pulling my underwear aside then taking without preamble? When I’m sucking your cock and your eyes flutter closed? Do you think I don’t notice that you quit using my name when we fuck? Are you aware you talk in your sleep? Last time I was riding you, I noticed you kept looking away instead of at my body the way you used to. Preoccupied with thoughts of her? Oh yeah, by the way: I looked at your phone while you were in the shower. I saw her picture. Lots of them. She’s gorgeous. She’s also twenty years younger than we are. I’ve always kept your bed hot, varied and interesting. I’ve always laughed at your jokes and kept the house clean. I’ve always discussed your work along with religion, philosophy, heritage, conspiracy theories and bitcoin. I never nag or spit in your eye or tear you down. I smile often and kiss you randomly. But apparently none of that was enough, huh? I seem to suffer from the unpleasant sin of: age and availability. This really fucking hurts. And I don’t know where to go from here.