He wiped my tear stain cheeks with honey dipped fingers. I wanted to be something he adored. A marmalade, a jam, no, his honey. I wanted to be the one he held at night. I wanted to be the one he called his light. I wanted to be his. All of his. It’s selfish, I know, to be another woman’s man’s honey, but my, god, no one understands what that man does to me. I hope his wife knows I’m sorry.
- Author: Lucya Nikolaev (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: June 17th, 2017 15:55
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- User favorite of this poem: alisha.
Comments2
I don't celebrate adultery either; sorry.
nice writing but damn girl
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