The Prostitution of Her Love
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“I’m not a machine, you know.”
He says huskily
As she places her chocolate tipped breast
Within inches of his lips
Tantalizing him
She just smiles, breastfeeding him
His treat
And leans back and sighs
As he gorges
On creamy chocolate ecstasy
Later, he wonders
About his insatiable wife
Wondering if he can keep up
With her little bedroom games
And trips into fantasy
Another day
He lies back in the
Exhaustion of fulfillment
About to close his eyes
When he hears her weeping
Trying to stifle her sobs
Should he pretend he doesn’t hear?
He is so tired
She quiets down
And before sleep claims him
He hears her whisper
“When you make love to me
That’s the only time
The only time….
You really SEE me
For those few moments
I feel that your world revolves around me
That you NEED me
To be fulfilled
The only time
You're the man you used to be
The one dying to possess me
And so I prostitute my love for you…
Hoping in these moments
To feel…..alive”
Before he can respond
She's gone
And he looks up at the ceiling and wonders
How life has changed him
His other friends complain
About their frigid wives and dull lives
So unlike his
He is fortunate
And yet…
He remains in bed
Staring at the ceiling
She cries softly on the couch
Feeling broken, used
Just a receptacle for his need
While she remains empty
She fingers her phone
Thinking of the invitation there
Very casual
A shared cup of coffee
Nothing more, and yet
She reads the real invitation
In the depth of his eyes
When he looks at her
She wipes her tears as she thinks of fidelity and promises…
He walks into the living room
Suddenly shy
She tries to cover her body
With her red see through lingerie
Her black hair covering her mascara streaked eyes
He kneels down in front of her
Pushing away her hair
His eyes searching hers
And holding them for a moment
Tilting her chin up, his lips cover hers
With a gentle longing
She gasps for breath
Shocked at the tears gathering in his eyes
His voice barely reaches her ears…
“Will you be my wife?”
She tries to draw him to her
But he takes a hold of her outstretched hand
And helps her to her feet
Gently leading her to the bedroom
And night turns to day
As he makes love to his wife
Satiating her soul
Realizing her every fantasy
He says all the things he’s felt, but never said
As he ravishes her…
His woman, his bride, his wife
The mid-morning sun
Caresses her face
And she awakens
To find herself
Where she’s always longed to be…
Nestled safely
In her husband's arms
This is a repost of a poem I wrote and posted here in May 2013. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_prostitution_of_her_love_479402
I also adapted it as the blurb for a novel for Judy Konos' Write a Novel Contest:
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/youve_written_a_novel__the_prostitution_of_her_love_486692
I felt like sharing it again. Thanks for reading.
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
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