The Joy In Her Ploy

Something absurdly arousing
About your gentleness, your
Submissiveness, your
Vulnerable slim body and
That shy, demure surface.

You are a city with its
Gates open and white flags
Flying from battlements,
Whose defenders have
Marched off leaving you

Ripe for plunder, for rough
Taking and the dividing of
The spoils. You bring out
The worst in me, the looting
Pirate. Why do I think you’d

Be beautiful stripped and in
Irons, awaiting my bidding?
Are we all this way, at heart,
We men? Carefully constrained
By fluid modernity and convention

But just waiting for our moment?
Or is it you, with your gauzy chiffon
Dresses and those lowered eyes
That gaze up into my face
Taunting me, daring me to

Take what I want? Signalling
No resistance will be made to
My ravishing? Is it that you
Cannot offer, cannot consent
But must be seized, to have

All responsibility removed
So that you can tell yourself
It was not you, randy and
Needing, but me the brute who forced
You to your climax and the

Enjoyment of your own sweetness?
A risky game, my friend.
Such joy in your ploy, love,
Such danger. Are you sure,
Sure in your heart that

I will not set those walls to the
Torch and pull down the statues
Of your gods and sow salt in your fields
So that the city never again rises?