The Prostitution of Her Love

“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.