Silent Men and Invisible Women by Anthony Briscoe © 11/2018

House empty, man-cave open, heart surreal
When they sleep I come to my place of solitude
You can hear a pin drop and I go into my secret place
Not proud, but calling me, waiting, rushing, wanting

I pick up my remote with no control and open my safe
Only I have the code and engage in my hobby
22 Double D, deep throat, hourglass body
I’m talking Del Rio, who could bring a golf ball through a keyhole

These keys hold me locked in an onyx box
And my fingers sticky, this woman off the screen
Giving me hickies, servicing a box of tricks and I’m a silly rabbit,
Acting like a kid in a cookie jar, but that glass is shattered and I am scared, satisfied, broken, pleasured, deceitful, guilty

Every click arouses sounds, enticing, alluring, hypnotic
Engaging, interactive, my virtual world is heaven making my natural world hell
A sensation, the grabbing, mind pierced,  darkness shining as my light
Another click, slick, time doesn’t exist here
A door opens, footsteps approach, Alt-Tab business screen present

“Honey, it’s 6am, have you been working all night”

“Yes dear, major project due this morning”

“Ok, I’ll bring your coffee down”

Lies, misleading, Tuesday morning, prayer, I forgot
Intercessors labor on their knees, I labor in sin
I live in deception, I am in a sunken place

I am among husbands who are Silent men

I wonder if all husbands work this hard to live in dark
Hasn’t touched me in months, my sheets have no pleasure
Body knows no sensation, a peck is what I feel
I get more pleasure in my mouth from Kool-Aid
His love is sugarless, sour
He’s provider but neglecting, loving but rejecting
I am wanting, thirsting, lusting for him,
He wants something, unnatural, not attractive

I know he brings home the cash, I don’t complain
His true stash of Internet Cache is worth millions
Laced with these goddess bodies of ancient women from all over the globe
Every color, every race, Bikini waxes, stretchmark-less
This is not beauty, this is not why God made us
We are not toys of King’s treasures or handmaidens to be given to husband
To birth a lineage of men that will keep us enslaved
To their lustful pleasures, we are queens, candaces, daughters

My tears run with the click of every image he has engaged
I’m hurting, enraged, pages of filthy, videos that poison the very
Essence of our marriage, I thought he was better
But I am more broken, I labor in love, warring against his demons
That have become walls of our separation

I am among wives that are Invisible Women