A thin strap of beating, whipping leather
binds us close with a steal choker for pain
or pleasure in the torment of our divine vows.
Hand-in-hand handcuffed to the marital hearse
the noose round us draws tight till we fight
for breath in the feted park air of sobriety.
A thin strap of swinging leather scars and bites
our naked flesh under our habits of a lifetime
spent rent over the leather-clad cushions bound
to convention, and sordid bedposts over night.
In the quasi calm of any middle day we thrash
out our future, walking it like a mad dog leashed
to a thin strap of leather.
Find me on twitter @Malek_Montag15
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