Except, here I am still titled The Other Woman.
Though I can state with confidence that it is not I,
It is She.
For it was my kisses whom have staked their initial claim upon his heart.
Look! If you listen closely, one might say that you can still sense the engravings I've imprinted into his soul.
But…I am not…am..The Mistress
Because it is She who intertwines her fingers with his own as they lay their heads on coupled pillows every nigh’ and morn’,
And it is my lips whom have remained untouched while we are subjected to speak through secret messages for twenty-four divided by the twelve of hours.
I am NOT The Mistress!
He is MINE!
It was I that left footprints tracking along his ( I was here -there-) FIRST…love,
While She defiles and falsifies passion that only I can unconditionally have for him.
The Other, She is, disguised in my rightful shoes.
Yet again, I stay passed by with crushed high hopes after our few exchanges,
Because then I am confounded by the impending reality that…
I am She still…both The Other Woman and…The Mistress.
12/5
