there has to be more to life than this she said to me leaning on an elbow as i tried to go to sleep

don’t you think there has to be more than this

i knew she wouldn’t stop until i answered

probably i muttered

i want more and if you don’t i don’t see us staying together

it was this fight again

it had the feeling of the old familiar fighting but i had hoped keeping my eyes closed would keep it at bay

at least until morning

are you satisfied she asked

the end of the sentence already getting that tone as it raised an octave higher

i am

she sat up quickly

this was escalating faster than i had thought

she must really have it stuck in her craw tonight

too much red wine at dinner

i was gnawing away at a poem that just wouldn’t spring fully formed as i wanted

she felt ignored

she loves that i write, or at least tells me she does

but whenever i start to write she gets chatty and won’t let me do the thing she says she loves

she really loves when they are about her

she’ll go over them line by line

dissecting syllables

any foreign phrase is suspect

she loves when i write about her except for when i write about her her and not the her that is romanticized and beautiful

she’s always beautiful to me

from the second she wakes up with crust in her eyes and the remains of drool on her chin

to when she goes to bed with faint traces of make up still left around her eyes like a raccoon

but she doesn’t like herself all that much

and she always doubts me

who is this in about she’ll say angrily

you my love

my eyes aren’t green like a sea turtle snout and why would you say snout that isn’t a lovely word

artistic liscense my dear

uh huh and i know she is going over every woman we saw that day looking for turtle greens

she’s especially beautiful when she is mad

like now

but she doesn’t want to hear it and frankly i don’t feel like saying it to her because all i wanted was sleep and she insists we have a fight

you’re really satisfied

the incredulous tone is grating

i am

why

i have the most lovely woman in the world, the bills are mostly paid on time, the apartment is clean, we have wine and food and words, how could i not be satisfied

but there is a wide open world out there and all we have is routine

you get up at noon in your ripped up boxers, scratch yourself and pour the first of too many cups of coffee

you read the news and get angry

ranting and raving about entitled assholes running the world into destruction

you tap out another poem

we fuck and shower and sometimes fuck again

then we eat too much and start drinking too much and then you tap out five or six more poems

we fuck and then go to sleep

it’s like clockwork

doesn’t seem so bad to me my darling

that’s the problem

you are okay with barely making it and writing poems no one will ever care about and drinking and fucking yourself to death

but what about me mike, what about me

well what is it you want

if you ask for something we get it

you want to go somewhere we go

you have a craving i do my best to satisfy it

hell

i didn’t grow up with much and i tried to fill the holes with stuff until i realized i had too much shit and the holes just got bigger

i’m good with making it

with loving on you and writing when i can

those english guys said all you need is love but i’m thinking they just said that to get into a girl’s pants

she sucks on her teeth in anger

she knows i hate that noise

the same noise my dad would make when he was shitfaced and mad about something

just suck on his teeth and glare angrily

ready to lash out like a predator at any movement

i’m no prize

i am well aware my shortcomings are all in the long running

and she is probably right about my lack of get up and go since it got up and left a while back down the road

if you’re that unhappy i won’t try and make you stay

oh so you can go out and bang one of those whores that fawn all over you

they can have you

see how much they like being caged up with a failed poet going nowhere at the speed of light

if this is so bad the door’s unlocked now make up your mind as i need to get some sleep

she got up and stomped to the living room

the expiration date on the side of this relationship is already past due

we both know it

the sex is great and she is truly a doll but she needs to find the next poor sucker to let her down

maybe tonight is it

the final fight that ends it all

guess i’ll know in the morning as i read the news and drink too much coffee

she loved being in loved with someone who writes

but she didn’t necessarily love the poet illiterate himself

i rolled over and smelled her pillow, wildflowers in my nose as i drifted off to sleep the sound of the front door shutting barely registering in my mind

she’ll find someone that will slay a dragon for her one day

she deserves it

maybe i’ll be the one to write the tale afterward

that’s enough for me