Only she said that she loved you.
No one else could ever have weathered your storms,
a veritable hurricane nine times out of ten,
unpredictable in fury and still unspeakably beautiful.

She only said that she loved you.
It wasn’t as if she meant it,
it’s easy to drown in the torrential rain.
Never trust the calm before the storm.

She said only that she loved you.
She whispered it and screamed it to the ceiling
while you drank in her body.
You called her goddess.

She said that only she loved you.
That your appetite and insatiability were overwhelming.
After a storm the earth drinks, drinks
until it gorges itself on life. You indulge too much, she said.

She said that she only loved you,
as if only could modify love.
As if your love were not enough.
The storm raged in your eyes.

She said that she loved only you.
She said it to quell the stormy seas
upon your sunset cheeks, although
if anger, shame, or sadness even you couldn’t say.

She said that she loved you only.
You and no one else.
You and you and you.
And you almost believed it.