That was forward.
I like forward.
"Put on this blindfold," she told me.
I did.
She was about to show me she cared.
"How do you feel about nails?"
“Fingers," I asked?
"No... Jesus."
She took the blindfold off and said I needed to stay crucified against her wall.
It’s how my lady got off.
I asked for a crown of thorns and she told me she was in charge.
This is my baby.
Ain't she polite?
Author Bio:
Joseph Randazzo is a writer from Long Island with an affinity for Poodles and Tom Brady. You can read his poetry and short stories on Empty Sink Publishing, Original Van Gogh, Children Churches & Daddies, Down in the Dirt and Conceit Magazine. You can also listen to his podcast "Keith & Joe" on ITunes, Stitcher and live on the @KeithLeanza Periscope channel. Say hi to him on Twitter and Instagram @theLBjoe; @chokeslampoetry