A Love Poem: Withhold the Whispers

Spare me the details
of her touch and
her smell.
Tell me nothing of her way
with you.

If she melted you
I do not wish to know.

Withhold the story of her whispers
in the nighttime with you,
how her fingers lingered over you
and drove you wild.
Tell me that I have loved you best.

I could do without the image
of her lying in your bed
because it fills my mind with jealousy
erasing and replacing love with contempt
and dis-ease.

Console me and hear my disheartened mumblings
as I struggle to decide-
Should I forgive the truths of our past
and endure in these present moments
that threaten to last and last...
and last?