No Laughing Matter

The tourniquet is beginning to irritate,

it chafes, 

I might even say 

                             it smarts, 

I’m parched, it aches, 

I ache, f’fucks sake 

                   enough’s enough
of this, you twister of arms,
 
dealer of despair, hider of car keys
and determined district creeping
underling of some pencil tapping
clipper of beautiful wings.

Your earth holds me down,
 
presses on the chest like
 
                         an incubus, 
too tight hug.
 
You mistress, you dominatrix
you forgot (on purpose no doubt)
 
my safe word.

Did we not agree one then?
 
So cuff this then you,
cuff you, 
               to the bed
instead 

I would, 
if you’d only left the key
                                for me, 

to attempt
                    an escape with, 

instead of this interminable
wriggling against a chord
that brings
                    no nourishment.

Yes, you left me tied like this

a breach of trussed I call it.

I’d laugh if it wasn’t for the fact 
your mother’s here, and about to start  
                                                   the hoover.