A Little Patter

 If you cannot have her,
   body and mind, at every moment
   for yourself, since she
   seeks other intimates without you,
   sits at the unknown confidant’s
   table, sleeps in the stranger’s bed – 

At least, wanting to love her,
   your mind can race to keep the woman
   imagined at her play:
   how her insides stirred, tumultuous
   at the sudden sound of his
   voice, how she touched him, what they said – 

 As if the talk of the clever
   confidant’s table would be opened
   to you, and the quick low
   dialog between them about you
   and other men might stand for the
   mystery of her and all she did ...

 Forget it. You will not know her, ever.