The Mistress

The Mistress

I've learned my role.
It was a painfully slow process,
the tucking away of certain feelings
the murder of certain thoughts.
You know the ones that made me
pull away and curl hard inside myself,
the thought of her that whispered cruelly
in my ear "He loves you but not enough. He
wants you, but he's not yours."

I killed that one slowly,
taking pleasure when it's mocking
turned to pleading. Now it haunts me.
But I didn't stop there.
No, your gentle coaxing
encouraged, enticed me further.

I forgot myself when I felt the heat of your hand
On my thigh. I forgot to care when you stroked
my heart and kissed it with a mouth
made for love. And even when realization
burned hotter than your body inside
mine, you soothed me with your tongue
and a voice of whiskey temptation.
You made me need you.

You forced me on my knees at your altar
of what's acceptable, and I found no mercy
there. You turned me liquid and poured
me into the spaces she couldn't fit. So I
wrapped myself around the parts she couldn't
touch and prayed that it would be enough.
I've learned my role...