Bondage

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The way he looks at me.

Christ, like he’s never seen anything so serene, it’s obscene, a movie scene, like a movie seen before he remembers me, captures my face in his memory.

His hand skims to my knee and I smile weakly, meekly, bleakly.

I adjust in my seat, play with my skirt pleat and his beckoning smile draws our eyes to meet.

It’s magnetic, it’s pathetic, I think I like him, our energy is kinetic.

He can see it and I too, the feelings flourish through and through.

A picture perfect aesthetic.

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