‘I had made a religion of his will,
the Papal Bull of his Infallibility ...
He chose for both of us, and I was happy.
Three bags full. He had an affair
and told me. That he was impelled to it
by loneliness and a long curiosity.
How can I forget it? They got drunk,
had sex, and lay in bed watching TV.
It’s as obvious as though I’d done it myself.
An alien nerve attached to the body
of our experience. He planted it, that part
I keep rejecting. His pleasure hurts me.
In seven years, after the cellular renewal
of my body,
I will be a different person.’
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