At the apex of her soul
her life had come full circle.
Disgust, pity, hatred;
it was all about a triangular patch of hair.
It was all about sex,
too much, or not enough--
never enough.
What did he want?
Her body was her own.
To share with whom she loved,
to give as she saw fit.
Never to be taken for granted,
or expected to perform.
Where had the romance gone--the love?
It faded like a ghost from a sunlit room;
a forced moment of pure lust in the dark;
dissolved as though it were a whisper;
a mutter of vows long forgotten.
He laid her roughly upon the square
of pillowed-down and silk,
and then had his way with her.
She closed her eyes,
the only escape she ever knew,
sighed heavily,
bringing a smile to his face,
as though his prowess were undeniable.
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