His Name Was Marcus

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His name was Marcus.
It smelt of heavy musk
That crept into the room
And pulled me away
From whom ever I was
Talking to.
Marcus.

It tasted sweet
As I said it,
Some of it dripping
Down the side of my chin
Before I wiped it
Away with my tongue.

When she spoke it,
A dizzying array of
Colours shot across
The field of my vision,
As she spoke of their
Union. Man and wife.

His name smelt acrid,
It burnt my nostrils
And still sent a shiver
Down my spine
That permeated through my body,
Leaving me cold.

I should have looked away,
Cowered under her unrelenting stare.
I was wrong and I knew that
I was wrong, but somewhere
Deep in the forest of my logic,
I knew I was innocent.

I did not ignore the ring
That trumpeted their union,
He never wore that ring.

I did not know that he was
Someone’s husband and
Still pursued him unapologetically,
I believed him when he said
He was single.

I did not fight for him,
I did not claim him as mine,
I simply released him
From my existence,
From my life,
From my heart.

His name was Marcus,
And I loved him,
But he had married her.