Spoon feeding each other
the rain
moaning with the thunder
zig-zag bodies convulsing

but you didn't like the poem
I wrote afterwards,
you said
it didn't do anything for you
and there weren't any lines
that jarred you

but hey, I could have said
sex wasn't earth-shattering
but I won't.

and all you could say is "better".

All I could think is yeah, it better
be better or this metaphor will
walk out the door.

"He loves me."

p.s. No poets were harmed in the making of this poem
(He said yet, as of this moment.)