You say you loved me long before the draw.
Not that it matters, but I’m sure you did –
You fed your pleas to Hydra’s lantern jaw,
and softly cried beneath this sleepless lid.
Meanwhile my own resistance left the stage.
My genuflected smile declared our peace –
A stone-cold fear lurked on my tarnished page
you fit too nicely into my caprice.
You’ve died for me: don’t think I haven’t seen.
You queued to join love’s narrow clientele –
And when I missed, you stretched your golden mean
to where I failed, and loved me there as well.
© Marie-Bernadette Rollins