Monday, April 13, 2015
I know you are a gentle, skittish creature
mincing cautiously through the darkened thickets.
Wide-eyed, sensitive, easily spooked and startled.
But I know that somewhere in there lurks
something kinky and perverted,
a part of you that longs to be bent and broken
over and over again, longs to be bound and bitten,
longs to let your usual murmur rise into a moan
that bursts from your throat like a flock
of screaming birds. rising from the trees.
You say it's not true, that I'm just projecting
my own twisted fantasies, that I'm the sick one.
But you can't look me in the eye when you say it.
The limbs of the trees cast shadows across your face
like bars of a cage. You don't have to say a word.
Just look at me and nod and I will free you
using nothing but these bare hands
...and, of course, my teeth.