her purse.
a shiny black
Prada's thing.
it was covered in cobwebs,
having never
been opened in
the last
ten years, except
to get out her compatct
and a tube
of lipstick.
i never once saw
money
in her hand.
she had the penthouse,
the limo,
the diamonds,
but spending a dime
on me
was out of the question.
and the love making
was horrible,
to top it off.
she told her therapist
that i was
her lapdog.
which came out later
when
i ran.
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