~ darkness I carry with me ~

We do not need to turn on a light

to know the distance (diminishes)

between our bodies upon arriving in your dark

house. Already familiar, small, the room insists

I stretch my arms, taut overhead, spread my lips around your breath,

tasting you stroking the back of my neck. All

night, the swaying fabric of my dress has called to your skin

– Tell me your fantasy, and I

will tell you mine. The way you touch me

pushes open a door into the cell I have built

behind will and weakness, home to all the failures of sleep, desires

eased by rough hands, pinning

down. Let evening fill

the sunny days we have often met – perhaps

I close my eyes, perhaps I am blindfolded. Thought drowns

in darkness, end to questions – my entire silence on her knees

before you. Your fingers drum blood

to the surface of my limbs – write

your lust on my thighs,

incise your sorrow into my back. Bind my wrists with your

heartbreak, my ankles

with your absence, always close, as we are

in pain, as we are in surrender, satisfied when

the whip bites, resistance bows, eating soul’s

organs, until this dress is covered with both

of us and the night, no longer sorry

for anything, ready to be punished. Cries bruise

and fissure bones’ persistence, pulse’s

density – unwilling to reassemble the pieces dawn

will find, not often gentle, this comforting.