Fountains of Love

Drips, Drips, Drips

Theirs was an interesting love,
warm, passionate, illusive,
a constant game of hide and go seek,
each week filled with a new way to “show” emotion,
offering a variety of erotic potions, both eatable, drinkable,
mixed with unencumbered notions of bound expression,
laced with heartfelt aggressive progressions
leading to welcomed erections,
leading to the removal of creamy injections,
followed with forehead kisses,
selfless handwritten greeting cards, and
immediate sleep representing the performance
“seal of approval”…

Theirs was a perfect love until…
“…will you allow the opportunity to share
in a golden shower moment…,”
was casually uttered during an impulse of honesty,
in a rare situation, full feminine autonomy,
“…certainly,” he responded out of obligation,
recent attempts of procreation steadily fading,
his hesitation proceeds the act,
pheaky fiancé gone a rye,
in the blink of a tear filled eye she swiftly descended
from Queen to whore...

Standing in the Jacuzzi peering down toward bent knees,
saddened by her glee,
he began to release warmth in an effort
to transform his agitated half empty glass into hers,
which was no longer half full,
now filled with jubilation,
instantaneously rendering their copulation irrelevant,
upon completion,
this was the first time her mouth didn’t feel like
ecstasy personified,
the first time her skin didn’t feel like
silk personified,
the first time she didn’t smell of potpourri,
the first time he no longer looked at her as his
EQUAL…

She loved the experience,
He hated the instance,
theirs was an imperfect love until
he asked for a divorce…