I liked the way you’d pull my hand under your skirt under restaurant tables,
The way you smelled when you were turned on.
I liked the cheap hotel rooms,
And the empty stairwells.
I liked the old Toyota Camry,
And the bed crowded with stuffed animals.

Until I didn’t.

Perhaps it was sudden,
Like a switch flicked off.
Or perhaps it was much slower than that,
Eroded away bit by bit with every thrust.

Until it became a chore to keep it up.
Until I had to think of someone else every time we were together.
Until one day, I looked at you,
And felt nothing.