You were bliss, beneath me,
in your collar.
You were his,
but I planned to take you
and make you mine.
Such a thing,
to talk about a human being
as an object,
something we could possess.
Surely you had your own desires,
but they became mine,
became what I had wanted
more than anything:
was to have you in such a way
that meant you were
no longer your own.
You gave everything up to me
in that way,
and your striking eyes
and dark curls
haunt me now,
in my silver years,
after all the love you threw after me,
in an effort to catch
the hunter who held you
in the tightest of nets.
You had to know
that I was caught, as well —
held to the net
just as much as you were.
To let it go
was to lose you —
did you never know
I loved you all this time?