An Element of Force

There was always an element of force.  

Underlying my longing,  
a germ of yearning  
to be held by the wrists,  
crept up on,  
and forced open  
like a door in the night,  
possessions stolen.  
 
I look backwards with glasses I don’t need,  
enlarging each scene ‘til it blurs,  
acting analytical with notepaper and pen.  
 
My first wet dream, about a thug  
who talks me into bed.  
My adolescent fantasies,  
limbs and buttocks bruised,  
left used and shivering.  
 
It had its darkest element,  
but in the reckoning I see myself resigned  
to liking love pressed onto me,  
like flowers in-between pages.