And, you dared

And, you dared
To think you could own her,
Her body,
Her luscious body
which you can never get enough of.

Her mind,
from where words endless stream,
words wielded to connect
with you,
to weld you to her,
never-ending,
words you daydreamed about
as you lay back spent,
exhausted in her, by her.
Exhausted for her.

Her heart,
Her big heart that loved you
even when you deserved nothing,
That you hope still loves you,
still clings to you,
as you cling to your notions
of not being bewitched,
Not by her,
but by yourself through her,
Slowly driven mad by the awareness
that her love may now burn for another.

Her.
Herself.
Her personhood,
That you feel slighted
when she lives her
life without you,
that she is not yours to own,
that she is just in your life,
when she slips into silence,
that warm cave you know so well
to which you have retreated
so often when she became too much.

She is too much,
Maybe too much for you.
You became less
as she became more.
You couldn’t see it,
not when lost in her,
Her heady essence,
Raw sweat and skin,
barely able to contain
the throbbing in your loins
and the agonised longing
in your heart.

No money,
No time,
Nothing given,
even with two hearts,
Can keep her,
And why would you want to?
Why would you want to
coddle and cajole and curse
her back to you?
To love yourself through her,
even as you just now admit you love her?
Feel the burn
of desire unrequited,
and smile to yourself
that this is what it means
to grieve.
No time.
Time is gone,
seems like.

And, yet, you dared.