She’s glad he’s gone.

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Finally seeing the depth of his demons,

and the energy he stole from her,

she’s glad he’s gone.

She misses the warm cavern of his shoulder,

the phone-call at midnight,

his soft, sweet, sensual caress,

but she’s glad he’s gone.

She aches for his hot hand,

his fingers locked around her wrists,

his mouth devouring her neck,

and wishes she’d been too weak to leave.

She wants the corsets, the heels, the stockings,

but in her heart,

she’s glad he’s gone.