Functional

I must be intoxicated

touching your betrayed chest

on our honeymoon. Right

into the bed

we fell,

no will to ask questions,

such reasonable doubt,

our hands grasping

air, sheets, flesh

rousing us into quite

delirious deviation.

Forget about his late-night affairs.

Never mind my empty pill bottles.

We fell into a deep slumber

snoring like dogs before death

and hushed any mention of discord

as he and I function only through dysfunction.