She doesn't listen, she never did. She is hers, she is his.
His southern drawl, soft and strong, tells her to stop.
"Don't do this. Enough. This is not the way to love."
But he speaks in words that defy his actions.
Eyes shooting daggers through a bow of satin.
"Don't love like this. I am not your feast."
All the while offering his body with the heart on the sleeve
He exhausts at reason and decides to save the rage for later
He sighs. He loves her as much as he hates her.
An embrace, he holds her face, her gown drops to the floor.
"We can't love like this, sweetheart."
She loved him more.