Dispatches from the wilds of Poetania – 87%

Don’t think I don’t feel
those sweet-caressing fingers of yours
closing ’round my throat.
Don’t think I don’t know
those warm summer breezes are sent
to lull me to sleep.
Don’t think just because
I smile stupidly, eyes half open,
half dozing, half dreaming,
that I’ve forgotten to fear
your sweet, deep abyss,
the shadowy embrace of your tightening arms,
the slow clawing of your dark,
the slow drag down deep below.

Don’t think you’ve won,
just because you have me on my back;
I only rest
for what is yet to come.