duct tape across my mouth
tight bindings that chafe and burn
salt tingling, drops of yearning
I look down at the space between my breasts
jaws clench in muted frustration
it still looks a little raw
my fingers fiddle with a lip of tape about my wrists
a fault in my bindings that I've worked free
and can undo
I consider that...
this space is uncomfortable
begs for fulfulment
no amount of denial, of persistence,
of repeating that the bare walls are beautiful as they are
changes the reality that I want this place different.
If only that paint were a different colour
And I wasn't fucking tied up.