When the time comes to speak,
to tell you the truth,
your power—that ever-tightening noose of desire–
thumps me into submission,
chucks me like a china doll across the room.
My bare leg rests, cradled
by the black leather of the bucket seat
and trapped by the tight denim of my jeans.
You take possession of my thigh
and, with calculated tenderness, knead the flesh.
The urge to run is in the lines of my face—
my sagging eyes and my wrinkled party ribbon mouth—
but I stay,
And the noose grows ever smaller.
