Bride – Poem by Flint

450px-BDSM_Collar_and_Chain

Flint – Bride

See her sitting on the stool.
The bar breaking for her,
making space.

Sipping through a straw
she could be any woman,
hair up, nails red.

Out for the evening. Here
to see a band. Dance.
Call a cab, catch a train.

Only she’s bare but for
her padlocked
collar.

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