Since you changed my name to Hunny, the kitchen has become a place for cooking, not fucking. No longer on the counter, before dining elsewhere. Don't drink too much wine, or stay up much too late. No longer care to fall asleep wrapped in my legs, soaking wet. Still sometimes, you quietly maul me, middle of the night, as I feign sleep; little noise but for your labored breath. I wonder sometimes, I wonder If I dreamt it. Since you changed my name to Hunny, I prepare your dinner each and every night, and pause at the stains on that cheap counter top, and thoughtfully consider, poisoning your drink.