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She doesn't make love
to me any more
but she loves me.
Where long looks
at the ends of long days
and even longer months,
means I want to make love
I just don't have the energy.

She has to pay
the Lord & Master
his due,
the Prince of Doom,
his allowance,
and lastly me...
but I am her Mistress.

Yes Mistress.
Such sweet words,
As we both
Exchange them
Taking turns
Sharing power.

I don't expect
Anyone to understand.
That there is a corner
Reserved only for
And no other
Can fill it.
Perhaps a mother
Who has lost a child
And still has
One living
Would understand…
Though I can have
Any other lover,
The ache I have
For her
Can only
Be satiated
By her touch.
Like the mother
Longs for the kisses
Of a child she lost.
Nothing else
Will do.

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