In opera you get what you need.
It isn’t marriage.
A man to sleep with.
A place to lay my head at night.
He knows every road of me.
Can find the turn-off without a map.
Can drive along the low stone wall
in the dark until he reaches the open field
and I go with him, countryside.
In married sex I haven’t broken any law.
I am in my own car steering into my own
He is my co-, my accomplice.
I hardly see him.