It Is Strange

It is very strange
what people think
when lovers meet.
When eyes exchange
a sudden wink.

It’s their doom.
When hearts do sing
on opposite seats
in a crowded room
over a drink.

People still say
It’s only a fling.
They’ve met in heat
one summer’s day.
They’ll never cling.

Everyone was wrong.
They’re still a thing.
Engulfed in sheets.
Writing their song
till the end of spring.

It is even strange
when people think
their love will retreat
or it will change
without a ring.

She didn’t care.
Although it stings
to read a tweet
that she likes to share
her lover’s thing.

Of course she did.
It was her kink.
She was no cheat.
He did her bid
to be a swing.

She loves to milk
her lover’s king
after she greets
her sub in silk
or a leather string.

He loves to lick
his lover’s wings.
like candy treats.
Waiting to drink
what she can bring.

Their love endures.
She was his mink.
He was so sweet
and certainly sure
they were in sync.

He finally writes
all that in Silk.
Those wondrous feats
those blissful nights
tied up in string.

It’s certainly strange
that many still think
when they do read
all this on a page,
that this was never a thing.