She's spread so thin. Her legs are spread as well
for far more lovers than she'll ever tell.
A goddess has her secrets. You'll get laid
a while and think you love her, are loved back.
It's sort of true, and sort of really not.
Sex is her work – well, that and being hot.
Come home one day – and she's begun to pack.
Her stuff's not in the wardrobe. In her case
are all her toys. She's hung up your spare key.
She pecks your cheek, a bit maternally.
Then she is gone, with heartache in her place.
Yet it's a sort of mellow, gentle pain.
Love never wholly leaves. Will come again.