By koolbluez@yahoo.com
Date: 6 November 2000

We're "comfortable"

We're "comfortable"

My s.o. says she loves me
And that's good enough.

The physical love never was the best
And it doesn't get better
(the suggestions only make her feel "inadequate")
But that's good enough; we're comfortable.

I've asked her to tell me her fantasies,
She "has none", she says
(she shares them with her internet friends, though)
But that's okay; we're comfortable.

I've asked her to dress up for me,
It's not "her" she says
(she'll spend up to two hours primping for friends, though)
But I accept that; we're comfortable.

I suppose once-a-month is a bad old cliché,
There's "reasons", you know
(she'll take care of them all in time, she says)
But it can all wait; we're comfortable.

I give her all my time and make things romantic,
It's forgotten too soon
(she has no problem flirting with poets and such)
But I don't complain; we're comfortable.

Her true bedroom love left her some time ago,
It's "not the same" is her dismissal shrug
(she keeps him in her heart - or is that her loins?)
But I let it go (it would only hurt to compare); we're comfortable.

I accept what I have:
The sweet talk, the smiles, the promises.
(she's okay with all that)
My life is full, she tells me, so we are comfortable.
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