Relationships

Strapped

buckle

“Any questions about impact devices?”
the young blonde in a bow tie asks
into the glance between us. He leans
in and plucks a braided black
flogger from the wall. “Thud or sting”
he says “is a good place to begin.”
The latter is my preference
? I say only
to myself
for now and savor the rising
inflection.

Silvered silk in the window
made my skin hum
with thirst and drew us through
the the door and past
racks of ribboned satin to the back
where whalebone stays and metal hasps
evoke a deeper growl.

A slender rod of pliant chrome
he lifts for just
a beat
then lays down
not on me
sadly but on the shelf.

Buckles I whisper as we step
back into the Christmas
lit street. We are too kinetic
for lace.
This time I hold
the question mark
under my tongue but my Mister
steals past
my cunning and teases
the interrogative
from its cave. “We’ll see
if that’s so,”
he says. “There are things we need
to find out.”

 

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