Green Silk

He loved me like a heresy,

quiet at first, then all-consuming.

Said I was different—

which is how men begin

when they mean dangerous.

I never touched him first.

I learned early the power of pause,

how hunger sharpens when you don’t feed it.

Green silk at my throat,

a ribbon where a crown might bruise.

Every room leaned toward me.

Music softened when I entered.

Even the king forgot how to stand,

forgot which prayers he’d memorized

before my name replaced them.

I let him watch—

the curve of my patience,

the way I listened and learned him.

Desire is easy.

Restraint makes men unholy.

They’ll say later I bewitched him.

But love isn’t magic—

it’s attention, sustained.

It’s knowing exactly

when to look away.