I never loved you, she said, never loved
anyone; I’m rotten, baby, rotten
to the core. it was all a sham, a graft,
and you’re the sap. it was all about
the money, the security, the house,
the picket fence, and the two-point-three cars
in the driveway. you speak to me of love—

what did you ever do for it? to earn
love? to deserve love? what did you ever
suffer in the name of romance? tell me:
what sacrifice make? nothing, jack. you’re as
rotten as I am, only you’re foolin
yourself: you wanted to possess me, and
like in all things, possessor became possessed.

Later…

returning to the matter of possessiveness
versus love, she said, one particular vice
betrays those who seek possession over
those whose love is genuine. those who
covet are quick to jealous rage, because
one can be dispossessed of anything owned,
and the more precious the object, the more
covetous its owner, the greater the fear;

but one who loves deeply and well holds love
in an open hand, ruling through freedom.
control is a fantasy of ownership
whereas love is the willingness to lose
not merely the beloved, but the self—
irony being, the self cannot be diminished.