I sleep sounder when my heart has been shattered,
sobbing on silk as the clock runs out.
Thunder has followed me to my new hiding place,
bellowing outside the door of a wealthy man’s bedroom,
while I pretend to be his woman,
just for the thrill, the company and the allowance.
The woman I want is out of my reach,
on a shelf where his wide wallet cannot carry me,
so I sleep beside him,
surrounded by sterling,
buying all of my sweet trinkets,
until the room is so full that I can’t see myself weeping in the mirror for the one thing I really want.
He’s miraculously patient,
knowing what his wailing mistress is,
but holding her as she howls.
Maybe for what he can guilt out of her afterwards,
maybe just because he’s old fashioned and he thinks it would be impolite not to,
but he adorns me in jewels as I read the morning news,
only recoiling slightly as he kisses my cheek.
I creep back into life as a kept woman,
keeping him a secret to my soul, who was once so brave,
keeping my weekend dalliances with the fairer sex a secret when he arrives home,
to avoid his jealous rages,
and it all works just fine,
as long as our lips lie as well as they kiss.