He boasts that he rescued a maiden
bound to a rock by the sea; broke her
chains, and petrified the beast
who was promised a human sacrifice.
But I've already heard that myth.

He says my husband is a monster
who hones his tongue on a whetstone
heart and etches his ownership
by lash and bite. He tells me
these scars are beautymarks -
smoothes his fingers across marred lengths,
flatters them as he focuses
here, here, and here.
Makes me believe.