marking me

following 3 hours spent baldly eyeing me across, through, over them, he finds me later in isolation, engrossed but accessible and, depositing his effects at the altar of my feet, settles himself to my right to tell me that he loves my muscles, appreciate my strength, you are so brave, so bold. so strong, sexy, smart.

flattered at first, i acknowledge the occupation of his ring finger and absorb his lamentation on love and the disillusionment it provokes.

in the same way, he once admired my strength, i'm sure this one admired things about his beloved that he now finds intolerably unstable, that he now stores as fuel for his husbandly rants. honey, if i were yours eternally, you wouldnt' like my muscles and you'd soon abhor my strength. you'd think i was controlling and you'd find my boldness cruel.

then, watching another across, through, over me, you'd discover true appeal in attributes that were not mine. and you'd love them. until you owned them.