Or maybe it's not love or affection at all
But simple desire craved by infidel hands,
Craving a touch, a whisper, a gentle caress by hand
A finger, maybe two, in places handed over to you,
A simple desire to know I'm wanted
Years into a marriage of gentle affection and convenience,
A simple craving of smaller, kinder pleasures
Before my fear overwhelms me
Before anxiety turns me into jelly
Before the black hole of depression
Sucks us into "performance" of marital duties,
And leaves me questioning
Where did our love, desire, go?
