She
We had been going steady for over a year
and she assumed a wedding was near.
But I was too young and enjoyed my life,
and wasn’t ready just yet to take a wife.
Though two years younger at seventeen
she was the most sensitive girl I’d ever seen.
If we argued she would openly weep,
she worked me well, even in my sleep.
She filled my mind when I wasn’t with her,
she was my Cleopatra, my Mona Lisa.
I shared her insatiable appetite for sex
and never knew when it would happen next.
She spoke of children and wedding rings,
detached houses, and domestic things.
I didn’t actually say that I didn’t disagree,
which really was ambiguous of me.
My job required me to spend two weeks away,
so she went to her aunts for a holiday.
By phone we kept in touch whilst we were apart,
separation hurt, but it was good for the heart.
On our reunion she was sheepish and coy,
her conscience was going to end my joy.
She had met an old friend whilst she was away
and was sorry for three nights on her holiday.
She said she was lonely and missed my touch,
and would I forgive her, she loved me so much.
At that moment I realised how much I loved her,
but I was suffering the curse of a betrayer.
She apologised and said it wouldn’t happen again,
but my heart was broken and I felt sick with pain.
Why did she do it, we were only two weeks apart?
She wept and pleaded, we could make a new start.
It was impossible, she had betrayed my trust,
our relationship was over because of her lust.
'Go back to the one you had slept with, ' I said,
'you were both eager enough to share a bed.'
She found herself pregnant as a result of her fling
and persuaded the father to do the right thing.
I didn’t get to know him and he didn’t know me,
but for a while we worked for the same company.
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poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
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