And when his lips pursed against my hand,

I thought to myself.

There would be no dream to dream ever this big.

And when he curled my satin dress into his hands,

I thought what better it would be,

If the marbled floor ever experienced its jealousy.

But then I begin to think,

Of his wink,

Of his tired old blink,

Is he wonderfully staring across my eyes,

Is there a spot in my makeup,

That I missed?

Or am I helplessly blinded,

By how beautiful the woman is next to me.

And boy was she.

The girl next door to be.

I thought his fever stare,

Was something of his past,

And that his hands were my forever thing,

Because they would only touch me.

But I was right.

When did they not ever touch me.

When was the back of his soft hands not ever taking a glimpse near my ..face,

When did ever the bruising of my legs disappear,

When did he ever stop squeezing my hand with so much love?

Was it when she was standing next to me,

And he was so mesmerized that he couldn’t wait to show her my misery?

Could he not wait for her to stand so close.

So close,

That he may mistake me for her?

Oh, ge

That’s the day I’d love for him to tell his tall tale.

The day he’d slip on his diamond ring,

Of course,

the one that matched mine.

And he’d run to tell the day,

How much he loved smothering my belly and face,

And how much he’d give me to have more offsprings with he.

How many times a year he’d leave his master,

To be a slave to a dawn jubilee.

All awhile singing my hymns in her ear,

While he presses his waist against hers,

On the dance floor,

And I stare from the thin hallway window,

Watching. his. hands.