the rough, dark taboo
as the blindfold grips her eyes
poison in velvet
the wooden chair creaks
as her arms shift in the ropes
she senses him there
pulls her to her toes
the rope slips over the hook
toes barely touch ground
as every muscle is strained
her hair swings like a pendulum
always for Sahib
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
21apr09
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