His Mistress

There it may seem like,

what it is to be one.

Here I felt like

I wasn’t the One

The touch of his caresses,

the bare bodied emptiness

of his bottle

It lay face down,

It lay face down,

like the jew in Auschwitz.

He touched it again,

He felt the cold Silken

Smoothness of the surface,

Beneath his callous rough

farmer like hands.

This next times he picked it up.

She stood behind him with 

a 48 on his head,

The thing he loved was the

smoothness, the full bodied curves

of the cold glass that touched his lips.

He had loved her a long time ago.

He had dreamt it all a fantasy.

And now she stood all 5’2

tall behind him.

with the gun stuck to his head.

Asking him, forcing him to 

give up the full bodied beauty

that stole him away.

She pulled the trigger,

as he touched his lips to 

the endless happiness of his mistress.