CAROLYNN KINGYENS

After the Reception

I watched you check out Simone Oliver
as she snaked by us in a fitted, black sheath dress
that showed off her well-toned arms
from a year of carrying the twins from Beijing.

Tonight, she was suddenly sexy
in the afterglow of grown-up conversation
as I shape-shifted into something different;
something in proximity to you at the reception,
something inanimate and dense –
a floor lamp turned off, hard-back chair unoccupied,
a fireplace mantle balancing a clock, candles, car keys of guests.

I am your homely wife,
whom you will later undress and devour
after the reception, in the bed-cover darkness.