Each night we forced your sister
upstairs to her bedroom
before she was tired.
Then, on your living room rug,
my pants around my ankles,
your shorts & underwear
crumpled at your feet,
the television masking our sounds,
we got lost in our discoveries.

Years after we finished
I met your sister again,
her complexion gone bad,
her hair disheveled, she looked
& acted as if she’d become
crazy from lack of sleep.

©Bob Rixon