I close my eyes and dream of you
Even as She spreads out before me
Writhing. A dying butterfly.
I can see the contours of your muscles
As if the image were imprinted on my eyelids
The sweat running down your bristled face
As you flexed. Pumping iron.
I couldn’t match your power.
That lit a fire in you.
You tried not to smile, but it came
through my painful lament.
The louder I yelled, the more pleasure you felt,
I could tell when you pressed against me to correct my form,
Your calloused fingers lingering on my throbbing biceps.
You didn’t have to say anything
But I knew what you wanted.
You wanted to take me over,
Crack the whip, show me who’s boss.
I open my eyes and turn Her over.
Masterly. For if I can’t have you, I can become you.
© Velma Velvet and affairsofthemindpoetry, 2018