she was an
extortionist
using me as
and emotional
contortionist
twisting myself
into the always
shifting shape
of the space
in her chest

i was her
lover
poet
punching bag
excuse
she was
only ever happy
when my tongue
wagged obediently
between her
legs
or the words
lapped between
her ribs
but oh how
i would
strive to find
a way to fit
in her every
momentary desire

a contortionist
unable to bend
in unnatural
designations
unable to follow
vague indications
an extortionist
holding me
hostage
with her
every paltry whim
i sought
to fulfill
unwilling to admit
she set the bar
just higher
than i could
possibly hope
to reach