You left under the cloak of night, again.
To return with your excuse as to why you are late.
What once was harmless, is now unfair, unjust, heartless.
Not on me or you, but her, the one that truly loves you.
I'm the harlot, the iniquity in your life, wickedness personified.
I remove your garments, deal with your hardness and
send you back to her, the promise you made to her broken.
I listen to your moans and return you whole to her.
I'm a social worker, a lover, a comfort, a *****.
You are a client, a bore, a job, a *****.
Our consciousness of what we do is monstrous, yet we do it over again.
I don't love you, you don't love me.
I'm a night deposit banking facility.
You drop off a deposit, leave, and go home.
What lies do you tell her?
Does she believe you?
Is paying for me cheaper than a divorce?
We both are heartless under the cover of darkness