What follows is a poem about a negative experience I had being a third for an established couple. I've had other very positive experiences in triad relationships. This one just happened to be bad. ~ I take honey in my coffee. No matter how careful I think I'm being, I always get some on my fingertips. Oh well. I love to lick it off. She is both the honey and the coffee. The bitter makes the sweetness sweeter. My caution is irrelevant. Each day she will be who she is, and I will enjoy her. ~ I was crying about something else. Not him. "I'm really a delicate creature," I said. "I can tell…" he said, "I want that…" So I wrote a poem to his gentleness. I wonder, now, if even then there was manipulation in the sentiment. Did he think me easy prey? Did he hear delicate as moldable? Could those tender hands intend the harm inflicted? Or was the abuse almost accidental? Is toxic masculinity a sword he's un...