Held in Your Teeth

I thought you were a god
but I was looking at you in a mirror.
You were just a trick reflection,
skilled in deception.
We stared at each other
in the [dis]honest glass      
                                    as you held me in your teeth

            and I held my breath.


Trained by Pavlov's daughter
with censers burning incense
on a nightstand altar;
patchouli soaked deep in
heavy drapes and light linen.

She had pictures on her mirrors of
Elvis shaking his hips
and Betty Page pinups,
James Dean smoking cigarettes
and Mr. Mojo Risin'
in leather and sex.
It’s the temple of Aphrodite
with golden apples and whips.

She led you by the leash
and you learned to fashion collars.


You are a dog,
and a common one,
who learned a trick:
and upon reflection
I should have seen through,
but the illusion was enhanced
by my eagerness to love you.
   
I am still your favorite toy
and I can’t make you leave
but at least you keep my bed warm
on the nights you come home.
   
       Disillusioned as I am
 this choker that you gave me
  chafes at my silenced throat,
        and I am wearied
          and threadbare
      and worn to the bone.