They're better than a gold star,
these two sweet words presented
as a sign of satisfaction
mixed with quite a bit of pride.
I am his creation,
so performance that is pleasing
signifies his own success
at least as much as mine.
These two sweet words he gives me
gently outshine any other gift,
except perhaps those three dear words
that I will never hear.
But there are many kinds of iron
chains and silken ropes that bind
two people in a complex web
with beauty all its own.
And so I take those words of praise,
that say how much he treasures me,
and press them to my lips and breasts
when I lay down to sleep.
A year ago we parted,
but we couldn't stay apart. So now
I am his precious poet whore
curled naked at his feet.