For the fifth time today I am thinking about you:

how I rushed out the door to teach a class

when you said to me wth a devilish

smile and those red, red eyes of yours,

“imagine me between your legs.”

and so it is that for the next

three hours, as I drive, as I walk, as I teach, as I stand,

I am certain I can feel the rasp of your tongue, the tip

of your sex, the last time we made love when you pushed,

pulled, grabbed, took, struggled, bit, nibbled, licked,

suckled, sucked, kissed, tied and carried me to exactly

where you wanted and I was helpless and I screamed, just

as you predicted and just as I had said “never” believing

such a thing impossible of, me a picture of self-restraint and control

all the while knowing that for all of my emancipation,

my feminist reading, articles written that when I am with you

all bets are off and I will do as you say because this is but a part

of our mutual agreement and our love would never work without your

sweet, simple commands that really, can only bring me joy.

So as I stand there in my schoolmarm blacks and try hard to focus

all I can think is of the last time we spoke and you told me in detail

exactly what it was you would do when I got home and how you told

me when I laughed, when I blushed when I hid my pink cheeks

and you said so simply: “you are so beautiful: so lovely”

and right at the moment I came, shouted your name

which carried out my window and made a path to the sea.