One ravages me standing up like this …
the same old “Dad” our family portraits show,
the first of all who bring this kind of bliss,
the lover that my friends and family know.
I, on my back, receive a different man,
his eyes set deeper, lips protruding more.
I rise to meet his hips on the divan,
our clothes and shoes still strewn about the floor.
Another man, I see, who’s laying flat,
his lips stretched broad, his cheekbones catching light.
My gaze flows downward, for this time I’ve sat
to ride atop my husband on this night.
Earth’s gravity, our nemesis, plays tricks.
I ache to take each lover he depicts.
rhymaphilia 
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