Ever the cuckold. Ever the man in the horned
Helm standing in public protest of him-
Self. The long raking scrape off self-scourging.
The deep clean slice of a limber switch on
A naked thigh. The ache of walking in
To find another enthralling her. The
Pain felt good, for he had to self the soul.
But that was beside the point. Beside the
Intense blue of close cropped hair. The metal
Rings pierced through. And the black painted lips. All
Aggressively feminine in all the
Wrong ways. He had wanted another try
At whatever she turned down. To be strong.
To be masculine. To be in control.