I keep looking at a picture she sent last spring, too dark
to make out at first, and then lightened to see her in a room full of men,
friends she said when I asked what it meant, just wants to share with me, while
in my head it all rolls out like a bad porn movie me, the cuckold bystander,
forced to watch as other men have their way with her, one after another,
sometimes two at once, with none of them being me, and I want to be, this
illusion as vague as a mirage, the most desired element a man could want
dangling in the desert ahead, unveiled there in that room, my hands tied behind
me, to keep me from intruding, that picture so ingrained in my brain, I still
see it long after I've ceased to look at it, friends gathered for a feast I
only observe at a distance, tied up, allowed to watch, never to partake
regardless of how hungry I get
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