It’s there, right there, in black and white, glowing on the screening, screaming off the page.
It’s here, right here, with the simplest of clicks, the tinniest of taps, it’s here for me see.
It’s here, it’s there, as bright as day, as dark as this winter’s night, for me, for all, for her to feel.
It’s there, it’s here, glaring at me, toying with me, knotting my stomach, gripping my body, crazing my mind.
It’s there, it’s here, your desire. Your desire.
But now it’s your desire, your passion, your ardour, your hard dripping fire for another, fashioned in the language you love so well, in the words that once played our own erotic game, in the poetry that was mine, in the prose you spilled for my aching flesh, in the verse that tumbled from these very lips, in the tongue now piqued by the curves, the sensuality, the femininity of this other woman.
It’s there, it’s here, your desire, in the deep shadows of black, in the blinding rage of white.
It’s here, it’s there, your desire. Your desire and my jealousy.