The Other Woman

Write me something, you say.
And I wish not to write about the colour of your shirt or your pale skin,
Or your chiselled face.
I wish to write about the other woman you know;
The woman you remember sporadically,
The woman who hitherto was your listener while you were her welly.

The other woman traps your lies in a web only she can entangle.
She looks at you with a blazing vision.
She lets your palm cup her cheek.
She cradles your thoughts until she falls asleep.

The other woman has trespassed a forbidden ground, so she believes.
Hand in hand we strolled,
Until ‘the woman’ took notice, and you unclutched her gripping hand.

Write me something, you say.
But the other woman can’t write you a nice poem.
She wished to, but you bottled up her wishes and flung it into the ocean.
You strangled hope with dishonesty.
You kissed with lips that narrated a different story.
You lied. You lied. And you lied.

But the other woman lied too.

She denied you passage into her heart.
She denied you the love.
But she couldn’t deny you all.
Such is she,
Such is the other woman.

Categories: Poetry | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

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One thought on “The Other Woman

  1. Jo

    Hits a little too close to home.

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