Hour 16, Perfect 10

His other woman offers circuses;
I am his bread.
She will never nourish or sustain
as I do. Though she lures him
with her games, his hunger will bring him back.

Our children fall prey
to her charms as well,
her empty promises of entertainment
through long and lonely furtive nights
pull them from my arms.

He will do with her
what he cannot do with me,
shopping for perfect gifts for hours
with her feverish assistance,
needing just a single word to find them.

I will wait, for I am
far more sturdy than she.
My fragile rival will fall with the next
electrical storm, an EMP blast
will see her fade into the ether.

My flesh will survive
her dark and bloody bytes.
I, his first, am patient,
for I know her promised perfect 10
is a binary second to me.

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