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prisoner you come
by instinct
from quarters of bunks
and boxes
you come
freed by rough
keys of your making
you come
through the thighs
in the bars of my legs
you slip
cradling a breast
and jingling
in shackles and ankles
you come
with a line of black numbers
tattooed on your chest
and bind me
in silken scarfs
by instinct
from quarters of bunks
and boxes
you come
freed by rough
keys of your making
you come
through the thighs
in the bars of my legs
you slip
cradling a breast
and jingling
in shackles and ankles
you come
with a line of black numbers
tattooed on your chest
and bind me
in silken scarfs
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