After Ejaculation

After ejaculation
I mop the semen
from your skin
and, casting a tissue
across the threshold of the bed,
apologise for the mess.

You smile,
but I did not make you come.
We touch,
but your eyes linger
on imperfections over the picture rail
and the single, dust-encrusted strand of cobweb
trapped in a draught from nowhere.

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