Velvet was the thing.
Open marriage was the thing.
dark velvet skin,
I had to find out what that was like.
Dalton lived above Portobello market—
again and again I climbed those stairs.
Saturday Reggae night,
toddlers asleep at home with my husband,
it’s my turn to go out.
My body aches to dance with Dalton.
Eyes lined with kohl,
I pull on my mini dress,
thigh high pink suede boots.
He’s dancing with a plump woman—
stringy hair, faded purple maxi.
Is this love, is this love, is this love,
is this love that I’m feeling?
I shimmy over to Dalton.
He pulls me in
to dance with him and the woman
his hips putty loose, he swings
an arm around each of us.
On her left hand, a wedding ring,
she leans into my ear,
‘Oh, are you his lover, too?’