Take From Me My Lace


She wore lace in all the wrong colors.
Caressing the firmness of her bosom and the apex of her thighs,
all the wrong places.
She longed to be crowned with white lace, a veil.
A token that proved that she had found the truest of loves.
She held onto the ideals of a tradition that was fading fast.
The remnants of her matrimony dreams resembled
wilted pedals of a bridal bouquet.
She found herself shedding the lace night after night,
As a reptile discards its skin unveiling what's underneath.
Finding solace in the arms of a man that she hoped was the one.
Not in an effort to win him with her body but with her openness,
charm him with her patience, wait as time healed his wounded heart.
The lace was just fabric, the ideals she clung to were her own.
True love was a language encoded in the heart.
She lay there each night, the solace found wasn't in their nakedness
but in hearing each beat of his heart.
The sounds of each pump creating a rhythmic pattern just for her.
A lullaby that comforted her as she slept.
No matter the color of the lace she dawned,
She would continue to shed the lace each night.
She would continue to wait because as long as his heart
beat for only her, she would listen.

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