Rope, Knees, and Chair

He has artfully arranged me.
I am more than tied;
I am carefully composed.
I am open.
This chair, like me, so carefully chosen
Then stripped,
Then sanded,
And stained.

There is a gap in the rope at the tops of my knees,
Each one confined to an arm of the chair.
Over and beyond each knee, soft strands of rope begin again.
Coil downward,
Binding whitest skin to darkest wood.
He rubs my knees; a final inspection.
And there, in my grain, he finds an imperfection.

He caresses me along my length.
There is the scent of lemon and oil.
Now he must strip me.
And stain me again.

Joelowen