And what was missing in those photos, 

The ones he hid from public, 

As once he no longer owned her she ceased to exist to him, 

After all that time … as you will. 

What was missing … what likely never existed …. affection, 

Where is the love? 

In all he is the center of attention in his own mind, 

The camera is only on him, 

She nothing but a side piece he does not even lean toward, 

No closeness, even unspoken by body language.

It’s merely a show, a put on for society.

No doubt she was the trophy, the pretty possession, 

Taken to give him extensions of himself, for his own ego. 

You know this well, for you have married it before. 

And now that she is gone he seeks another, 

One only to exist in his domain, to obey. 

This is what the sociopath does, 

And you are so easily swayed by them, by money. 

But he will not love you either, for you are lesser than she, 

And he seeks only a body to exist at his beck and call, 

To make him appear whole, for he is not. 

It’s in his eyes, in all their eyes, the ones you favor,

The pigs of greed, 

His words for you only cheap impressions of movie lines, 

Casual and disinterested to break your confidence, 

But constant, incessant, never letting his presence wane. 

It’s a tactic, a game, the motive of a cold heart behind cold eyes. 

And you will discover it too late,

When his eyes only see the camera, his hands do not seek you, 

His body does not lean. 

If you were important, he would have come for you long ago, 

And, if he comes now, once you tell him in your naivete, 

It will only be to disprove the claim, not out of love.

Ice above, so ice below.