The Taut Truth

I feel taut
Next to the presence of your possession.
An extra person, is convalescing,
In this room, built for just us two.
“Is it true?”
I think, and worry that
A part of me is excited —

To taste the excitement of someone else.
To breathe it in through every sense.

Does that make sense?

They say that if I forgive you,
It would mean the rending of my self-respect.
But what parameters of yours,
Apply to me in this context?
I wonder, could I taste her on you?
I spent weeks before I moved,
Knowing the “truth,”

That made my breasts taut,
And my mouth bare,

With the promise of a new adventure.

While I begged for the scent of you,
I begged to have you beside me,
Wrapped like the waves of my hair,
Falling down onto my chest,
We’d be safe, if only we could both live there.
I ignore the storm now raging,
the taut truth is that
I bared my soul to you.

And you loved another’s best.
I tore at my breast, and wondered when the pain would subside.

You lied.

I realised, though, that I had already set you loose,
As if something in me knew,
You were not who you pretended to be.
Now your memory sits on my shoulders,
Like an oversized shirt,
I bought in a vintage store,
Before I realised I could have more.

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