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.