Inspiration

Altar Ego
Your hands were virginal,
Pale, smooth, deceptive.
They touched mine
with knowing apprehension.
All my strength and resolve
Traveled through my arms
To fall flailing into your eyes
Of storm-stirred indigo.
You smelled of candle smoke
And red wine.
Your voice was rich
Like Turkish tobacco
And just as sweetly poison.
You could not be dethroned,
Not by the most sincere of coups.
The altar was your kingdom,
And I was your willing prisoner.

Description

This is a companion to my poem of the same name. It is dedicated to someone who held me captive for years.