My husband’s mistress ah! I can never contest!
For her lips, they are full and inviting
Like double church doors, they beckon
And mine, how can they be
When my husband has kissed
their youth out of them for twenty years?
She is reminiscent of a weeping willow
Tall, slight, willowy…
And her limbs,
they hold the delicateness
Of kiddies and twigs
Makes you afraid her wrist will snap,
upon a handshake
So was I once, but twenty years, my dear
Of meals from a mortar and pestle
Muscled and man-ed me over like this
Like my husband’s friends tell me he complains
she walks like a flamingo
With a lazy grace,
as if her life, in creation
Was tuned to slow motion, but I
How can I have grace in gait?
After leading a life punctuated with tragedy
Which has taught my feet to hurry?
My husband’s mistress,
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