A second set of words from Rosemary Mint. Thought it was going to be more upbeat than the last one, did not turn out that way.
She slowly deprived him of it,
that zest for life that once
drew them together.
Volatile in anger, vitriolic in her ire,
words laced with acid
to bend him to her will.
Docile as a lapdog he became,
their relationship, too, grew tepid,
like the humid air of August nights,
no longer mollified by just the sight
of her uncoiling from the divan,
dressed in lace and conciliatory smile.
She, content with his devoted subservience,
was astonished one morning to find him gone,
he had just left, and never said a word.
Also doing ‘double duty’ for Margo Roby’s prompt ‘The Things You Don’t Say’. Probably going to be on the dVerse open link night as well. Check out all three of them (including Rosemary Mint abaove).
Also posted to the Imaginary Garden, since it was compared to a St Vincent Millay piece.