Bound

 

 

 

Her hair glistens as if made of gold

Not colored gold or as hard

But precious to touch or taste

She tastes bitter like perfume,

But I drink all of her in,

Weaving myself in her stands

Tying myself up with her so tight

I can’t escape, subject to whatever
whim she wears,
unable to taste anything

But what she feeds me,

Unable to breathe but what

She breathes into me

I wear her like a wig

Each strand binding me

Head, hip, lip and loin,

So I can move only when she moves

With each shimmering thread

Biting into me until I bleed her,

Each orifice oozing

As the bonds grew tight.