The Practice of Degradation

One day
He’ll decide he’s done.

And maybe I’ll believe I was different.

Though….
Every touch
Happened before the eyes of a merciful moon,
Who sometimes cast his skin in a somber glow
(the soul keeper of the secret)
And how do I describe
The unearthly bliss....
Smothered by the darkness
Of the witching hour, the dead of night,
All performed in the back of a padded Jeep.

I loved his body
Beyond my own.  
And
I’ve been his secret
For years.  

All this.

And who am I
To pull the alarm now?
I’ve heard it wailing for years.