by Joy Ladin
II:6
You don’t get why I beg you
To tie my hands to the bed
And stuff my mouth
With something warm and white
Ripped from the fabric of life
By fingers you tighten around my neck.
You think it has something to do with guilt and pleasure,
Or the origin of tragedy
In the human need
To act out what we suffer,
Or maybe the simple bitchiness
Of forcing you to savor
A capacity for pain
Almost as bottomless as your desire
To hear my cries
As pleasure. Omniscience
Oblivious
To the obvious: as long as I
Am free to flee, I can’t fulfill your fantasy
Of making love
Out of mortal terror.
