"Come over tonight,
I'm craving your love.
I'm begging for your touch,
I'm hungry for your kiss.
Baby, wont you come over?"

You put on his favorite perfume:
The purple bottle of Vera ****,
the one with the cap shaped
like a crown. Tonight, you're
hoping to be his princess.

Once you arrive, you walk right in.
He doesn't greet you at the door,
but that's okay. He never has.
You come to his room, he doesn't say
a word, only strips you of your coat,

your Victoria's Secret lingerie, and
your dignity. You go through the
motions of what seems like making love.
But you know you're putting passion into
something that is incapable of giving it back.

Your kiss is full of want,
his has no feeling.
Every touch becomes more caring,
but from him, its only a game.
You know that he doesn't want anything more.

When he falls asleep, you're left to
lie in the sweat, shame, and disgust.
You thought it was different this time,
but its never different. You can't refuse
his sensual offers, the stealthy ways of

getting all that he wants from you.
It isn't your fault, but it is.
Your constant requirement of love
makes it impossible to refuse him.
"Baby, wont you come over?"