We circle

Like a lion and a panther, we circle.

You, ready to pounce, but having enough respect to wait for me to make the first strike.

I draw first blood by leaning into your arms. You retaliate by stroking my bare arm. Sensations betray my desire. I try to put up my armour, but you dent it with every touch. Every stroke softens my metal plating and weakens my defences.

Before long, I am defenceless. You have the stronger weapons, the sharper blade, the upper hand.

I am a prisoner of war. I am your prisoner. You capture me with kisses and caresses, and you pull those cords TIGHT, keeping me in place. A prisoner of my own making.