She rises inside me like tides and crashes against me like gods against Exeter.
She was my satisfier, momentary recompense.
She was always there. Everywhere, I saw her. She commanded me to more than a military duty of her. She promised me nothing, on the terms of selfless obededience to her. She would have me stir fate with her.
She would not release me. She would be the beast in me. Insatiable, unsatisfied. To feed her was to slash my wrists and give myself to trust that she will save me, if just to prolong this tryst. Surrender was never to love her, but to believe like a fool hits his knees for a holy father, that she will value me as more than a lover.
And I do this, because all men are maddened when relegated for a time, to deserted islands.