by Holi
(01/14/04)
The refinement of cruelty belongs to the springs of Art.
--Nietzche
for A.
nuit I
talons pierce my flesh
your eyes grip mine in a spell
bind me to your lust
nuit II
my soft plume
captured in the sweep of your wings
your wildness reigns me in
nuit III
my hot tears fall
leashed to your desire
my lips to your boots
nuit IV
my wrists are bound
I fall out of my body
into your nest
nuit V
fettered to your bed
drizzling with desire
pitifully conquered again
nuit VI
beyond the pain
to still-life holy quiet
I lie in acquiesce
nuit VII
devoured in gasps
my breast like red poppies
your obsession rules
nuit VIII
your crop strikes
my thighs in soft percussion
tattooed with your mark
nuit IX
your glove opens me
seamless strophes of ecstasy
my breath halts
nuit X
I am a slick, shiny thing
bound to obey
your personal work of Art
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux