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Click hereI lay curled on the floor
of his Mercedes
a sleeping dog, a sack
of groceries
and would not raise my head
even into his lap.
He turned left
off the highway, into the whisk
of grasses running along the doors,
the rock and pitch
of driving
a rutted, unpaved road.
When the dash lights went out,
moonlight washed
over the leather
seats, over his dark shirt,
dark jeans. Then he gave me
a command.
I lay listening
to the engine ticking, ticking,
and I thought
I can walk back from here
even naked,
I can find my own way back.
We were quiet
for a while, both very still.
Not once had he touched me
during our drive.
When finally he spoke again, he asked,
and I complied.
... but ...
The poem sits uneasily on a knife edge - nothing explicit but a whole world of emotional danger. Well done!
Pleased to meet you.
the sense of self lost in the command
the non erotic tag takes this to dark places for my mind