Desire.
was, after all, the kind knife
That I used to cut you out
From your life And stick you in mine.
and
Was all I needed to take you away
To hotels and rooms only for lovers
With Secrets like ours
And
Fantasy
Tied you in ropes and allowed
Me the vicious satisfaction of quenched need.
but
Love, was never needed,
Nor wanted, while I lay apon
The beats of your breaking heart
But
It was always running down.
Allowing time in was our mistake.
Matrimony
Called you home to your husband and left me alone
Now, shivering and tangled
Low and lonely in a pension
near Vienna.