With grace and with teardrops she sighs,
makes a move for the crushed velvet dress
sitting in a pile at the foot of the bed.
His cigarette smoke behind her curls
around his face like a villain’s mustache
from her father’s old cartoons.
He was never a man she saw herself with
and yet moments before she let herself
moan in his arms, let his sweat hover
above her and glue their chests together.