Making Me

I flop on the bed when we get home from the club. I don't want it.

I'm tired, it's late, it's been a long week.

Yeah, you say. Apart. Run a finger along my instep.

Doesn't matter, I say. That's just the what are you-

Because you've got your tongue out where your finger was. Slipping into the cutaway side of my killer pumps, little flicks, a long flat lick.

I lie back down again, silent with my eyes closed. You hold my ankle tight.