They speak your name
as if you are a Spanish mistress,
exotic and mysterious,
with attention to the curve of your accent.
But there is no mystery
to your inclinations,
you are no stranger to me —
neither winsome or welcome.
You have stolen fire from my hearth
and quiet from still and silent days.
My lover lost to the bed’s far side,
while I find spring birdsong in winter.
Let them fall into your warm embrace,
but I know your fair-weather nature.