I hold her soft chin between my thumb and finger,

and tells me something that was sure to linger,

‘You can best lesser men’ she whispers,

hand laying upon my chest, as though I were hers,

her horse of war, treading through the mud,

laden with the bodies of those who’d carried her.

She tells me to embrace my strength, eyes agape,

her finger traces my bodies length, tying in twine,

She makes me think of those I’ve downtrodden,

to prove myself greater that those fodder men,

But in the undue comparison, I find that,

I’m riddled with embarrassment, for when

I look upon myself I see a trodden man entangled by thee.