She lives a life of straps and ties,
spaghetti strings and hooks and eyes.
Elastic snaps and traps that catch,
where bras and panties always match.
She lives a life of here and now
of guarded gates and tended vows.
Of tiny, strange epiphanies
and prophets whisp’ring in the trees.
She feeds and comforts, nurses, heals
yet alone in darkness can only reveal
her deepest blessing and wildest curse –
the white heat in the pink silk purse.
He’s eyes and hands and breath and lips,
sharp teeth and sharper fingertips
which play the fabrics, one by one –
a twist, a slip, they come undone.
This poem originally appeared on my MySpace blog, Full Mental Jacket, on 2/23/2007