In comes contempt

In comes contempt that she is pleased to seize,
When it arrives, the chance for reveries,
Once spun alone, returns; for she inclines
To share, as her hair's tugged, and each eye shines
With moisture of the tears withheld; she would
Enjoy it; take it for a crawl - she could
Be used at dusk in lamp-lit gardens, where
The windows on the street will never dare
Reveal themselves for comment, shutters closed
Protect the occupants, but she's exposed
To engage revelations in the mud,
Where, crouched and held, she finds contempt is good.

Forget the formal quadrangles of stone
Forget the towers shadowing dark loam,
Where she is pleased to kneel in the dirt
And invite his derision and the hurt,
That she'd profess to love, only because
She begs for his contempt without a pause,
Knowing she has no choice; her need is dire
She will not wait for it by a warm fire
Or hearth that she'll abandon when she's called
Back to his side for his harsh words to scald
Her mind, her thoughts, her ideas and her hopes;
In comes contempt - she wonders how she copes.