Strange Memories

Strange memories come back when he arrives:
They’re dark, of course, but these thoughts suit the dusk;
And, come the night, that’s bound to rule their lives;
He will do as he’ll do; and she will just
Obey, because obedience is the art
That she professes in her soul; her mind
Is full of images, as she takes part
In every bacchanal that he can find
Is suited to the pleasures he’d suggest,
Knowing she is his slave; and slaves must be
Well used, before the dawn brings her the rest
That he has stolen from her: she will see
The light that fills the skies, when she can please,
And she comes back to these strange memories.