The young man approached
Lips parting like petals
His eyes shining like medals
He pressed his mouth against hers in a moment of cool triumph.
True love’s eternal promise whispered in his ear,
He shushed it with an idea more near:
Yes, they would be lovers.
She was his to be had
Not a friend, not a comrade
No, she would be his.
Sparks ignited against their lips
A transfer of ownership
A master calling to the owned
Dragging the other towards its new home.
She was groggy, a disturbed beauty
Her eyes shot open like brilliant stars,
Then closed in a fraction of a second—
No, they would not be lovers
He was hers to be had
As more than a comrade
Yes, his soul would be hers
He crumbled against the harsh pressure,
His body reduced to a few ashes as his spirit fueled hers.
Closing her eyes she resumed her position and waited