you know to me she is not real
       a prop

   a satin glove
           a chain

her flesh not pink and fragrant like you own

                      her touch not sweet
            her lips just crackled slits of passion

  she is not real to me
         she's not the heady wine that I imbibe

    between your thighs

you know to me she is not real
    she is a fetish.