his strong, callused hands,
trained to grip and hold the toughest,
the roughest,
yet so gentle against my fingers,
my limbs.
his commanding voice,
built for authority,
booming with power,
reduced to a calm cadence to worship
me.
he loved me,
and I let him.
his affection, much like the ocean,
buoyed me in its consistency,
yet threatened to suffocate me
in its magnificence.
he was constancy
and romance,
there was persistence
in his softness.
a juxtaposition in corporeal form.
he had none of what I wanted,
half of what I needed.
and although
loneliness leaked into my nights,
he loved me
and I left him.
