Sometimes she’s so innocent
I can’t believe we’re in the same bed.
When she opens her mouth
out comes this sweet kid from the fifties
all virginal and optimism.
The soundtrack is swell
and the crickets are chirping.
I wonder wonder wonder:
how did I ever find her
and what is she doing with me?
Other times she’s a demanding dominatrix
forcing me to do degrading things
I never learned in Sunday School.
I’m her bottom and she’s my top.
She makes me beg for it.
None of the safe words work.
Then she does this Oprah thing
putting me in a chair
and asking great questions.
She’s really good
at getting me to open up.
Before long we’re like this.
When we’re done taping
I’ve just told the world my whole life.
There are times
when she’s a high octane cocktail
one part each of Janis Joplin
River Phoenix and Heath Ledger.
There is no high like the high
when I unwrap her.
The first one was free but
all of it since then has cost me a lot.
Did I mention the priest thing?
I know only men are priests but
she hears my confessions.
At first they were tame
then I grew to like the penance
and had to go for more.
Afterwards, she forces me to serve her
and she knows she won’t get caught.
I’m her bitch now.
~ J. D. Mackenzie
(Inspired by napowrimo prompt #5 making poetry really personal by giving it a name)