How many years have passed us by since I last saw your face? Every spring the cherry trees bloom again and I scratch another mark upon my heart. I know you are here, I can feel you in the city, I hear whispers about a man like you. Sometimes, when I am walking, I pause and look behind me and I look up and I think just maybe I have caught a glimpse of your dark shadow. The blue in my eyes shines and all the breath in my lungs escapes me like I want to escape.. and follow you.
Are you watching me?
I want to throw down my basket, dash it to the cobblestone streets of this bustling city and climb the bricks and stones and towers until I find you and I can beg you for just one more of those kisses. And then another. And then another. Even if you hurt me for it. Even if you have to hate me for it. I love you enough for both of us. I love you enough to forget where you came from. Enough to make it not matter. Enough to break my own mind and throw off my chains.
But that's a silly joke, isn't it? Throw off my chains. What good would I ever be without my chains? Won't you come down and lock them up again? Push me down, lock me up, put me in your pretty cage. Come down to the ground and touch my hair. I'll tell you all my secrets and all my lies and all my truths if you would just come back down to the ground.
"Frigid the forgettable" The bald slave calls me when I drop the pot of cream, when she catches me looking too long out of the bakery window. I no longer smell of lye and bleach and astringent. Now I smell like sugared plums and tart icings. Sometimes the cloud of flour obscures my freckles and she and I will dance around the kitchens and pretend.. pretend we are the women of handsome men, rich men.. men who will touch us and show kindness. I've told her about you. She calls me a foolish slave. A woman's slave. But we smile. the bald nameless slave is the closest I have come to a friend since.. since Eliza fell to the collar. Since I lost my mind.
But I smile, everyday, because sometimes I still see you, out of the corner of my eye, watching me as I kneel by the fountain, selling pastries and tarts and hard candies. My Mistress demands I keep my hair tightly bound and I am never allowed make up to try and cover my freckles. My yellow and brown tunic is cinched too tightly at my waist. It hands long enough to hide my shapely thighs. My collar is plainer then Eliza’s had been and I still only wear the mark of my breeder. Where would a womanlike me ever be branded? There no.. space. I am no longer waifish and pale. My hips curve, waiting for your hand to rest there. My breast swells, waiting for your tongue.
Come back down... spider man. I want to be your Mary Jane.
Are you watching me?
I want to throw down my basket, dash it to the cobblestone streets of this bustling city and climb the bricks and stones and towers until I find you and I can beg you for just one more of those kisses. And then another. And then another. Even if you hurt me for it. Even if you have to hate me for it. I love you enough for both of us. I love you enough to forget where you came from. Enough to make it not matter. Enough to break my own mind and throw off my chains.
But that's a silly joke, isn't it? Throw off my chains. What good would I ever be without my chains? Won't you come down and lock them up again? Push me down, lock me up, put me in your pretty cage. Come down to the ground and touch my hair. I'll tell you all my secrets and all my lies and all my truths if you would just come back down to the ground.
"Frigid the forgettable" The bald slave calls me when I drop the pot of cream, when she catches me looking too long out of the bakery window. I no longer smell of lye and bleach and astringent. Now I smell like sugared plums and tart icings. Sometimes the cloud of flour obscures my freckles and she and I will dance around the kitchens and pretend.. pretend we are the women of handsome men, rich men.. men who will touch us and show kindness. I've told her about you. She calls me a foolish slave. A woman's slave. But we smile. the bald nameless slave is the closest I have come to a friend since.. since Eliza fell to the collar. Since I lost my mind.
But I smile, everyday, because sometimes I still see you, out of the corner of my eye, watching me as I kneel by the fountain, selling pastries and tarts and hard candies. My Mistress demands I keep my hair tightly bound and I am never allowed make up to try and cover my freckles. My yellow and brown tunic is cinched too tightly at my waist. It hands long enough to hide my shapely thighs. My collar is plainer then Eliza’s had been and I still only wear the mark of my breeder. Where would a womanlike me ever be branded? There no.. space. I am no longer waifish and pale. My hips curve, waiting for your hand to rest there. My breast swells, waiting for your tongue.
Come back down... spider man. I want to be your Mary Jane.
0 comments:
Post a Comment