if you want to ever see your umbrella again
you won't contact the authorities
with the story of what happened
between you and i last night

you'll have to lie to everyone around you
including yourself, knowing barely enough facts
to make it to my apartment every saturday evening
wearing the sluttiest piece of cloth in your closet

i'll light candles, mix cheap vodka with pulp-free orange juice
and joke lightly about things not at all related to what is actually on my mind
sitting on opposite sides of the couch
waiting for after drink four or five to rip off the little clothes you did wear

if you want to ever see your umbrella again
you won't tell me how special i am
or some other such foolish hastily-fabricated contradiction
you'll just lay there moaning, in the closed guard position
thinking but never speaking about the inevitable end to this blackmailed affection

if you want to ever see your umbrella again