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Last Call

The summer they got divorced
They slept together seven times
Each for the years spent with each other
And the decades to come until they die.

You’re still so young, her friends would say.
There’ll be more girls, his boys replied
Whenever he asked what he’d do now.
Whenever she pondered on a broken vow.

But when in bed, their bodies tore apart to become
Nerves and muscles, kisses and bites, hands that no longer wandered
But knew exactly where to go,
And knew exactly where to grab, pull and stroke,
And knew exactly where to touch.

The last time, and they both knew that then
Would be the last time, he took a cigarette
Out the wrinkled pockets of his grey jeans on the edge
Of the bed and took five drags before
She had to ask him for a puff. They both laughed,
Smoked, took a shower, separately, got dressed,
Left the motel room and never saw each other again.

Poetry by Sameen