lingers around my thoughts late at night
when I suspect everyone of secrets
where my own lack of discretion
is just enough rope
to tie me up in knots
and I fear that he has lost interest
his caution stirring only apprehension
dampening lust and dimming hopes
and I fear that my ex-husband is reading my poetry
secretly viewing my desires,
coveting my disappointments and disaffection
searching for clues to scandal
and I fear that she will never speak to me again
her anger and resentment builds a wall
of deeply entrenched bravado
it competes with the righteous indignation
in my own heart
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