How I became just another lover

“The world’s a whore and I’ll always love her.
With fickle play she swaps,
Between me and Him.
Whispering my pillars of comfort-turned-remembrances,
The soundtrack of the fast-track to my soul,
To another lover’s lips.
But comfort comes in the form of a folksy scented co-misery:
“For as many fish in the sea,
There are mornings to wake up and see.”
As if We were shared temporarily rather than temporally.
So very many mornings of decompressing that which,
Drunkenly, was the last night poorly recompressed,
All that She and I had shared,
And remembering from a freshly  foreign perspective,
That we are not One.
That this is repetition as redemption,
For every day is another chance to prove that,
This time it wasn’t just another mistake even though,
Once again, She found me wanting.
In need of improvement.
And even though She laughs the same,
When she does laugh
(Depending on the re-integration of the re-membered mood,
Our humors might be /off/),
It’s a sloppy reminder,
Giggling through a towel that isn’t mine,
That I’m just a borrower here,
Renting a time-share from my  Content as-Service Provider,
Just like every other bloke on the block:
Running our processor-belts full blast in an empty factory,
Kicked back with no coasters re-watching sousveillance tapes.
Watching Her walk away on loop.
To some Other supplicant’s slice of Life,
With sunclouds and sultry atmosphere guaranteed.
Another Him with another This//That,
For Her to gawk at, matronly.
A fresh new sobbing wreck who finds her morning-gone,
Before he could find the commercial break to profess to her,
How he /really/ feels,
As if she didn’t leave knowingly.
Just another:
“The world’s a whore and I’ll always love her.
 
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