The mistress.
Arrayed in precious opals,
gifted with golden skin and lush curves.
She desired her magnate, regardless his traits and mistakes.
His prowess made her quiver,
and his dominance was her cure.
He owned her body and soul,
predominantly her grieving heart.
She lost herself in his arms,
moreover in the sparkle of his deluxe.
His body was her shrine.
She craved, she sobbed at his touch.
She explored his poise, every night
as he left her in the twilight, aching for more.
There she is, his muse.
The mistress,
counting seconds to worship his animal grace.
