left

victim and abuser, both bound in their own form of imprisonment.

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does it worry you
that when my skin
aches
it is only in
my dreams of you?

does not shame
creep into your smile
at the sight of
my fractured form
exposing veins and tendons
whipped clean of skin
by your leather whip
made from the leather
of your book of
empty lips

bones stripped of
their need to support
shatter to pieces
under you

I am left here
existing in the deep
sadness in my sleep
but you,
drifting bird,
will never know my
freedom
because you wear the
same ropes
you bound me with
etching themselves
deeper into you
until you become
one and the same

For you, I feel
deepest sympathy

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still

thinking of the great Robert Louis Stevenson and his piece Requiem.





Still oceans sing tides
Still as the sailors they bring
Still worn by the waves
Still waters they lay in
Still loved by their lovers
Still held by their kin
Still crying on the pier
Still as a sailor
Still sung by the tides