Manic - A Book of Poetry

50 Shades

50 Shades

Forget the contract, you hit me

for free.  Yes, sir.  More, sir.  I’m wet

with tears for knuckles blazing and skin

pink then yellow and green like the mold

in our refrigerator.  You hit me twice for that.

And it’s three a.m. with street light flickering

ivory sheets like a coffin, breathe in breathe out

your hand on my bare stomach and maybe if

I bite my lip and you were a millionaire fucking

in your playroom I wouldn’t have attracted

that man’s attention shame on you whore.  Slap

it out of me.  May I have another?  Be grateful,

you hissed, I don’t hit you were it shows.  Liar.

Each mark shines like Northern Lights, my inner goddess

my shameful writhing on beige carpet, foot in ribs

heart in throat.  We don’t have a safe word.  Red.

I forgot to pick up your dry cleaning.

Body tenses, your head nuzzles into my shoulder.

You only love me when you’re sleeping.  I’ll be

punished until I’m fifty shades of purple, violet

at the ankles you drag, plum freckling my neck.