Emma Bovary

Bound
Your body is geometry— 
lines crossing skin, 
pulling taut where flesh yields, 
and you wait, silent. 
Between your thighs, 
a soft division— 
a statement, not a call, 
of force and zeal. 
The ropes whisper: 
“Breath.” You hold, and you wait, 
for his eyes to find you, 
for the doubt to loosen, 
or because it is him, 
for nothing at all.


Juls Oliva 2022
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