My Russian Lover
He keeps her tied to him
she must never be more
than a breath away.
The gold love bracelets express
his love and ownership. He becomes
aroused each time they tingle.
Do not speak unless spoken to.
One meal per day: Pasta only.
Your hair is my job. Do not touch.
Submit one poem every day.
Immobile. She is fastened to his new
sculpture: neck. arms. waist. Thighs
parted. Each bound in leather, an art
learned from his time in Japan.
He rolls her poems in paper and blows
the sweet words down her throat. The
thrill of her own words blooming within
almost belies her vulnerability.
She shivers deeply. Her charred words
lick her feet. A word here and there
remains, lit and sparkling. Muses for
her next poem.
Shivering in the cool basement, she's
dying and surviving. She spills slow and
long on his hands, confirming that he
too, is perishable