I'm a Slave to Strawberry Ice-Cream

She’s my dominatrix,
I her slave. Bound & gagged,
hands tied, mouth wide.
Drive home & she’s all I’m thinking about
after the bag of Fritos, half a Hoagie sandwich for lunch.
She calls to me telepathically.
Smell her creamy goodness from the driveway.
Put down the burgundy leather suitcase,
take off coat,
throw it anywhere, I don’t care.
Kitchen still like I left it:
Dirty plate,
syrup-covered pancake,
a piece eaten away.
Too late in the day
for flapjacks.
Purchased her cheaply at the Food Emporium last night.
Freezer door ajar.
Dig past thighs of chicken,
bottle of Vodka,
frozen vegetables
to get to her.
She’s a cold bitch by now.
Spoon penetrates,
scoop out bits of real strawberries.
Bring to lips,
in mouth, on tongue.
Delicious delight, united
& this is only the beginning of her sweet torment.

Collage courtesy of author, "Chocolate Candies"