the whip
ain’t nothing moist in a whipping story
she told me / showed me
the bruises on her knuckles
held an ice pack to her left thigh
then there were delicate silk straps
across her shoulders / her hair fanned out
on the cloud-white pillow
the only color the red on her lips
bruised hands beneath the sheets
it’s an acquired taste
she said / and turned away
I’m trapped / held against my will
like one of her customers
they ask her for it / beg her for it
with me no force is necessary
I’m begging the moment she arrives
even though I never feel the hard slap
of her palm / or the sting of her toys
I tell her I’ve given up
released her back into the wild
where she feels more at home
but it isn’t true / the truth is
I keep a corner of my closet
cleared out / just in case
and I steel myself for the blow
I hope she’ll someday deliver
Comments