You
said you loved my cooking.
The
way my lasagna slipped over your fork
Delicately
caressing your taste buds
On
its pathway to the dark cavern
Of
your tummy.
You
loved my hands,
The
soft silky way they stroked your back.
The
way they soothed your tired feet.
My
long white nails strafing you
In
secret places.
You
loved my wavy copper hair
Trailing
across your skin
Leaving
faint shivers in its wake.
Reminding
you of tall grass
And
ecstasy.
But
when it was done and over.
All
the things you loved
Were
empty promises of never.
And
of the things you loved.
The
most important thing,
You
didn�t.
Me.