The Intimacy of Women

A night of loneliness,
She asked her to bed,
“share my pillow with me”, she said
“My Husband’s away, and this night so gay”,
“It is my need for company”,

Her tender innocence,
embraced a desperation, disguised.
She woke the raging lies,
Wide and frightful eyes,
Yearned the touches she gratefully gave
The gesture of a child,
rendered depraved

her body swathe in airy caresses
she took in the lightness of her kisses,
and breathe rapidly to remember her scent
the comfort of self-indulgence
 Passionate lust that warms, and satiates her body
relieves her fears and delivers her ineffably sweet shivers
a tremble so deep, she sleeps—momentarily.
A hard night, soft with kindness, a disguised blight from Machiavellian gods
Cautiously she, whimpers with quiet laughter;
a contentment of her own acceptance.

The unquestioning willingness of a woman child,
distorted in lonely silence.
But like these women, no men exist,
as men are not as foolish.
and, because of this, I will remain, forever and faithfully… envious.