The Cruellest Number ?

Wistful,

Full of satisfied mystery:

That warm, post-coital smile.

“One is always

The cruellest number,”

She sighs

On a shallow,

Honey’d outbreath.

The room is still, now;

Open window admits

No sound –

For there is none.

She’s so good

To me,

For me …

But, in every way,

So very wrong too.

“Three,”

I’m secretly thinking,

“Is far more cruel.”