wiegenlaid

its like lullabye at night. that rocks me to sleep. like a repititious prayer, my lips move, my tears fall. i doze off in a minute or two. my agenda is acceptance: so, almost getting there ... this exercise never fails ... each time i am at the brink of love ... i tell this litany to myself, over and over and over and over and over again:

that night, you were bored. a little entertainment wont hurt.
your wife's away, it does get a bit cold and lonely in your room.
or may be you got into one those childish gone ugly fights again, and it was your chance to get even.
why not, for that, youd get free hugs, lotsa kisses, some honest lovin'.
didnt i make you swoon, melt, swell, each time i tell you i love you, honey.
when something you love to do, like sex, is scarce, virtual is better than none.

you had 2 crushes in grade school, me and Imelda (billed that way in Rey's slumbook)
that night, it could have been her instead of me.

i was easy for you. to get and forget.