Not for the proper

This is not a poem
for the proper

this is not a poem
for the weak-hearted

this is not a poem
for the prude or uncrude.

This is a poem
about my fantasy.
When I was able
to tie my own wrists to the bedposts
and in my mind
you ravaged me
and pillaged and plundered your way
through the wall,
through the socket,
through the cord,
through the electric massager,
and into my heart.

Holy hell,
you are quite a ride.

poem by Erica Francis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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