He slipped through the curtains

on a Friday night, and pulled them tight

behind him. Immediately familiar,

he peeled back the sheet and slid his hands

into her prickly armpits, rested his head on her back,

pressed her belly, tucked a stethoscope

under the cotton smock, lifted her bra

to get close to her heart.
You don't have any rebound tenderness,

he said, and you're not guarding,

but you've had nothing to eat,

you must be so hungry. And as his warm hands

went here and there, he told her of eating rock oysters

alone at a Sydney restaurant, a whole plate

all to himself.