This used to be fun, I tell myself as I lie,
white skin arms bound by a thick strap of black
masking tape and metal cuffs.

But chaining requires bonding,
or at least bondage, does it not?

I've been in this room for hours.
He's probably stolen my money,
left me here to rot.

My only light through the filthy basement windows,
the blinds amputated between skies.

A newspaper blows past
like a paper curtain hung crooked.
Voices crackle through the door.

The coming dark circles like a buzzard,
the sun starts to descend.
I can tell by the weak spaces
growing smaller and smaller.
through the blinds.

A shape forms in front of the window,
a jerking torso,
going, leaving -
imagined.

I see tongue on glass,
the gritty taste of salt on skin,
and that final dusty breath.


- From my chapbook, "The Secret of Ivory Vows", available now.

Artwork featured - 'Bed - Cortona Series' © 2005 Serena Perrone