We keep two houses because of the cats

and you have a key to mine but I
have no key to yours. It’s like
that thing I heard about the Mormons,
a secret marriage name, and the man is
told the woman’s, but she doesn’t know
his, and they are sealed together for eternity–
I worry she wanders around calling ‘Joseph,’
or ‘Brigham,’ or ‘Rumpelstiltskin,’ and he’s
off in the corner drinking ovaltine and postum
with all his other wives. I think if you loved
me you’d get over the catsmell but then I
remember my ex-husband falling out
of love and figure maybe it’s not so bad
to get a good-night kiss and curl up in bed
with a good book and a cat and not have
to deal with your dust your drawers full
of loose bills receipts your used paper
towels crumpled up on the clean counter-
tops your hawking and spitting at the bathroom
sink your strands of hair stuck decoratively
to the shower curtain your hidden cigars your
torn up t-shirts your long-underwear leisure
costume your used soap scum your museum
displayed kidney stone