Sometimes

Sometimes you feel like

Andromeda chained to a rock

uncertain what

tentacled fate awaits you

Sometimes you’re in a big

Victorian house where servants

bustle past and

snigger at your nudity

Sometimes its an

artist’s studio where you can hear the

bristles brush your

flesh onto canvas

Sometimes you imagine

cold steel on your

wrists and feet and not your

iron will

Sometimes you hear a door

slam and a long silence

then an opening and the

sound of many feet

Sometimes you weep from

both ends as you

wait for some breath

sign or touch

Sometimes the wait is long but

always ends with a kiss

a strong clasp and a

whispered word

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com  and Holden-and-Camille.Tumblr.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)