I shackle you to a bed post.

I pulse an image

    in front of your eyes.

I show you a complex for your thought.

I take from the kitchen sweet desserts.

I eat my desserts with you...

    on the bed...

    you in shackles,

    I in black.

© 1996 David Greg Harth

96.10.07.01:30:00@31USQWNYC