Captives
Of Love
Island
her tears
wash herself.
inside it’s
very strange.
baptized by
the sickly summer heat
with 1 cry
her resolve was on the floor.
skin sweaty
& pleasure truncated.
punishment
scenarios followed her again because
her purpose
was to enlighten mankind. her goal is
to
pull the symbol of power and
to
sing about the sting of humiliation.
this
experience in the black mansion
was
published between each moan
sideswipe
close
ricture
phantasm
go on
/ go on –
we
both evolved
she seduced /
she danced
twirling in a
glass box as the
bright lights
blared up through the floor
lighting her
up
warming her
bare legs.
she became
fully recharged before she became resigned
a
girl's firm hand held the digital recordings
secreted
them away
crawled
by inching
crawled
by inching
crawled
by inching
mouthing
the words: ”love me and
burn
the glossy photos”
i had
memorized her license
i
asked the obvious about why she began lighting the candles,
why it
began to rain.
bounce
off it,
bounce
off it,
overcome
the rigid upbringing
the
tender touches won’t stop:
gloves on
fire
endlessly
caressing her face
cold lips on
her eyelids
tingling her
stomach,
reaching
inside
a lacy
frilled explosion
denouement
fractured
“please
fix me” she said. then she laughed.
"They're
always afraid to admit they want fun,”
she
laughed once more.
she
was now a film,
she
was now a waxwork.
she
was now an experiment in terror
a
thorough exam revealed nothing but
euphoria,
her mind was photographed
as a
great lacerated puzzle
that
was hidden in a gallery.
later
we sat on the couch and stared at each other
for
unending time.
(that’s
how long usually takes)
chanting
monotone
a most
intimate act became impossible:
to be
completed as the clothes crawled away screaming into
a bloodless
wilderness amidst the
scratchy
squeaky sounds a reason to sleep
(a dormant
pin-up was splashed across the headlines)
she'll
be there
she’ll
be made to appear fashionable.
...
and in 15 minutes – a green 1965 Pontiac Bonneville
will
arrive to take us away.