According to mafia/crime boss movies, it’s a natural part of married life to have a mistress. She the exciting one who makes you feel alive, your wife is the paragon of virtue and loving mother to the next generation, who perhaps doesn’t understand the real you.
I have a mistress, and this is the poem she inspired.
I feel alive with her
My mistress is a hard lover
And hard to love.
Yet she stirs in my veins like no other,
Bringing a wild smile to my face
That makes others blush.
She does not have a gentle pace:
When her mood is high
She pushes me away and pulls me in,
Directions I cannot deny.
When my hair was long she would throw it in my face,
As she laughed loudly into my ear
Occupying every sacred place
Until all I could hear was her.
The taste of her salt on my tongue
Feeling nothing but her.
When I cut my hair short
She left me with total disregard.
And against the pining I fought,
But everything was suspended in frozen time
Until she blew back in
Destroying any calmness that she could find.
I know that others don’t see her the way I do,
They don’t understand her nature,
And I don’t care that I am one of the few.
Her elemental forces make me feel alive and free:
I am bound to her,
My mistress, the Wellington Breeze.
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