Part of my final poetry portfolio for the class FA-CW 103.1: Introduction to Poetry Writing Ours is a sordid love affair— I am yours but you are not mine. In this bedroom, however, with your hands gripping the sheets of my bed tightly, your body quivering with need, and your eyes rolling back in ecstasy, I can pretend that I own you. Your marriage is one for fairytales— You are hers and she is yours. The day of your wedding I stood by your side and watched as you cradled her face to share a kiss. You were so terribly gentle, as if afraid that she would break with one wrong move. You are in love with her. You do not seek pleasure from her body. In the morning, you would greet her with a kiss, then sweet nothings would be shared between you two. During some evenings my lips would wander your flushed body and my filthy words would send you over the edge. I can break her with this. Just one call and things would fall apart. Just like you the night before your wedding day. In the hands of another man you fell apart; instead of her name on your lips it was mine along with the mantra of please, please, please and more, more, more. You want me to keep quiet. But first, beg. In a wanton voice, I want to hear you plead— for my silence, for your release. Beg for me not to tell your wife that you act like a harlot as you take pleasure from the hands of a man that has no claim on you. You want me to keep quiet. I will. So long as I get to keep you in my bed. So long as we can continue to share this— the experience of having this pleasure completely take us over to the point of incoherence. I kept quiet. It’s not my fault you’re loud. You were far too gone to notice her. I, however, was not. With your moans acting as the background melody, I met your wife’s eyes as my name fell from your lips and you fell from your high; your eyes fell on her and your marriage fell apart.