When I perch on the edge of my bed
to tie my shoes,
I sense you standing
erect between my legs.  

Staring down at worn carpet,
your hand ensnares my neck.
“Look at me,” you demand. 
Your grip tightens.
“I want you to look at me.”
I lift.
Your eyes tether me
as you thrust into my life.  

And every time I sit
to manipulate laces
I am bound.