The Other Woman

You saunter nearby

and I feel my soul quake,

your presence is electrifying.

I watch you as you sneak

a peek at me and your

chestnut brown eyes light

a fire deep within.

Your agile, strong, black hands

move so gracefully and

effortlessly with every motion.

I feel the desire rise up in me.

I want. I need.

Alone at last. Long waits.

Interruptions. Inconveniences.

Our bodies and souls need their fix.

You wrap your strong arms around me

and I come undone.

Everything falls away.

You lean down and passionately,

yet slowly, kiss me

as the nimble fingers of your soul

reach in to unbutton mine.

I am all yours.

You breathe me in.

I breathe you.

You are my life.

You are my awakening.

From a deep slumber I wake.

I am fully alert, aware, and

responsive to all you need.

Our passion is our sustenance.

We wait.

Waiting to be fed.

Waiting to feel alive.

With you, I am the other woman.

The woman society can’t,

or won’t, handle.

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