Hair that’s tangled, in quiet reprise
Thoughts are running, through her mind
She dreams of him, the desirous kind
Longing to have him hold her tight
She wrestles, with the empty night
For he no longer needs her sweet embrace
No appetite for leather, and lace
Has he played her, once again, the fool?
How could she break her only rule?
To never allow him to partake
That which she, would not, forsake
She wonders long, and ponders still
Perhaps it was never against her will
©Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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