you talk about “the other woman”

but i am her
and i have a name
it is on his lips

you can taste it on his tongue
and hear it in the chimes of midnight
and the ticking of the clock
when he is late
for the fifth friday in a row
you try to make a home
with a white picket fence
and magnolia dinner plates
but his home is the warmth between my legs
the embrace he longs for is not from you
it is in the strength of my thighs
pulling his hips closer
my claws marking the territory that you have tried to claim
so desperately planting your diamond ring
like the man on the moon
but that means nothing from earth’s surface
or the planet’s core
fiery and burning with lust and greed and the sins that keep him coming back to me he knows better
and it is me