He

You’ve slept with over ninety women,

you’ve lived a fast life,

seen the world,

seen beauty firsthand 

and ugliness too. 

You have somehow ended up here,

with me,

the two of us,

bookends,

holding the other up. 

I never feel the need

to ask about the others,

it sickens me to think

some other held your face 

in both hands, way before

I did. 

You love the way

I speak,

though I only say

things I know you

desire to hear. 

You have nightmares,

they’ve only increased 

as our love grows;

perhaps one day 

I’ll go

and show 

you how a real woman

loves. 

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