Did I not count you as
a man? I gave you no time to
beg or plead. You did not try.

Your eyes deep in color, charisma floats in their thinly drawn
lines. Your composure is not stiff but does not allow
anything to cross it's wall.

Still I hold the thin rim of a glass and you
take it; it's contents spread across the pit of your stomach.
But not matter, the thick liquid is olive oil thick on your tongue and you
do not rush to the spring to drain the taste with
water.

You hold the stem of the plant in which I fear
as it controls my wit. You do not know where you have gone, you do not realize that I
control you.
Between my fingers are spaces the immortality I flaunt cannot
fill.

You are mine, forever you shall answer to my will.