She knew she was in love with him. She loved everything about him too. He was more than a fantasy. Fantasies didn't keep her warm at night or hold her tight when the lovemaking was over. Fantasies didn't tell her they would love her forever.

Unbelievably hot and heavy, soaked in sweat and totally exhausted.

You have plenty of love left in your heart for one more man. I can see that. It's in your eyes.

I'm not being difficult. I'm being realistic. We're not falling in love. This is just one night together. It's nothing more.

I've tried that love thing for the last time. My heart says no, no! Nobody's supposed to be here, but you came along and changed my mind

Lately I can't help wanting us
to be like other people.
For example, if I were a smoker,

you'd lift a match to the cigarette
just as I put it between my lips.
It's never been like that

between us: none of that
easy chemistry, no quick, half automatic
flares. Everything between us

had to be learned.
Saturday finds me brooding
behind my book, all my fantasies

of seduction run up
against the rocks.
Tell me again

why you don't like
sex in the afternoon?
No, don't tell me--

I'll never understand you
never understand us, America's strangest
loving couple: they never

drink a bottle of wine together
and rarely look at each other.
Into each other's eyes, I mean.