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By Joseph M. Gerace

I turn the page
He turns the page
She does not turn the page

I rip the page without harming the spine
He rips this page and the one before it
She would never rip out a page

I draw two bulging triangles on the book's cover
He a red circle on its final sheet
She traces the words with lip-stick pen-cil

I am no good in bed
He is no good in bed
She is disarmingly good in bed

In the morning I open the shades
He yawns and jumps from bed
She pulls the covers over her head.

http://joegerace.blogspot.com/


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