She sets your table, plops dinner down, and you eat.
No lust for the chore, no love for it any more, she washes dishes.
She serves you, like a debt, a duty, or a dog—for exchange.

Me, I’m dessert. I undress your mind, place desire on your table,
Luxuriate in your spine, the cup of your back, and your lips.
I serve you like a wife, a partner, and a chum—for love.

We laugh, talk, fuck, sleep, spoon, and wait, drinking in the hours
Until next we meet, a pair of arms entwined in exhausted heat.
For all that, she’s the one on the reservation, table for two.