Being the other woman

How much more clear can I possibly be?

You vacillate,  billowing back and forth

like our bedsheets drying on the line.

Your ability to  elude any semblance

of rational expression borders on genius.

No matter what I say, you slip through a chink

in the fence,  like a greased weasel,

evading capture yet again

You wonder whether I am serious

doubting my intent

this ruthless inclination

the revengeful desire to destroy

what I cannot have

Sleeping on me would

be your fatal flaw

underestimating the seething rage

that swept through my being

erasing all rationale and calm

eradicating logic and reason

You think I won't shatter that thin shell

shaping and forming your world

expose your flawed spirit and selfish self

Finding comfort in another man's arms

When you slide away from the ever green bed

To the enchanted ever green forest

Something which is promised and true

Tear drops of the mighty falls

The feeling of being the other woman