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.        
       
His rules:        
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