On the Occasion of the Conclusion of our Acquaintance
By Jed, jventurer@yahoo.com
The Deathtrap victim's ode to his captor
                                                                                
You are my nemesis,
    and I am your victim;
  rope creaks overhead and down below,
      a straightened line, cotton-white,
    two knots, both tied fast around wood.
                                                                                
And I am your victim, subject to your silent taunts 
    you've no need of words, and that's not your style;
  my naked humiliation,
      my urgent futile interest
          speak volumes, and nothing need be said, nor can be.
                                                                                
Rope creaks around the ceiling joist,
    bites into foolish flesh that,
        still hard, thinks without thought of you.
  You remain untouched, unmoved, unchanged.
                                                                                
One straight length of clean soft cotton,
     stretched taut between heaven and earth,
         or, at least, the ceiling and me;
     it thrums, tuned to a painful pitch
         by an unwilling artisan.
                                                                                
Two knots, one slippery, one fast,
    and gravity their accomplice.
My helpless manhood at issue,
   seconds counting down, and down.
                                                                                
My feet leave the ground - I dangle
   in elegant, exquisite pain.
  I realize this interlude
      has meant more to me than to you.
                                                                                
But I think you'll miss me sometime
     as I will miss me too.