an old poet once said
jealousy has a scent
as distinctive as
mildew
or the smell you get
off the back of a wet
dog's fur
it bites like a
vampire might
not a nip but deep
penetrating
out for blood
you walk around with it
as it with a bag of
stones
on your back
the rattle of it giving you away
to anyone who stops
long enough to listen
and she has heard the rattle before
and not just from me
maybe from all of us
who have come to love her
and mistake love for bondage
the need to possess
and so for those with these bags of stones
each day is a misery
when we can't have it
because she might gift
us
with her affection
from time to time
but won't take out a mortgage
or give us right to
tell
how she ought to live her life
or who she should be with
when how or for how long
this bag of stones
getting heavier
the more I carry it
the more I need to
cast it away
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