stormclouds
gilded by silver
postponed dawn
© Rachel Green December 2024
with open hand, my love approaches close
her fingers tight like soldiers fit for war
he hugs are tighter than those of other folk
and hold me motionless upon a matted floor.
A sensual grip indeed becomes her aim
with groove of thumb and wrist against my neck;
her fingers curled around my shirt to gain
a grip so tight that sleep begins to peck
at consciousness, until I am quite sure
that no escape from tender can snap
her from a hold so tight the only cure
to avoid an unpleasant dream. I tap.
The expertly applied hold is released:
cross-collar choke, my mistress, is a beast.
© Rachel Green December 2024
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