Stockholm Syndrome (Dedicated to Declan Kelly)

Stockholm

 

Groggily awoken by pressure on the wrist,

Tightening Iron rubbing tender flesh,

She whimpers at unfamiliar surroundings,

Crackling hearth, stone walls and vast velvet master bed.

 

He enters, a giant shadow looming on teak boards,

Swaying jet hair, an awesome gait,

Refusing hot broth she rises his fury,

The firm fling of his hand mellows her spirit.

 

Gentle gusts flow through barred windows,

Curtains dance in the ember’s glow,

Warming her in satin sheets,

His sturdy hand menaces and protects.

 

Shuddering she whispers pleas for release,

But he has gazed at her from afar, waiting,

Tears streak paling cheeks like melting ice,

Nakedly exposed to the cruel stranger.

 

The weight lifts as the chains fall,

Dawn rays soak her stinging eyes,

Crimson fluid seeps once the pressure releases,

Imprisoned in the barred citadel.

 

Punished with each hysterical outburst,

Growing weary as the days shorten,

Flinching less at his caresses,

Her old life disappears into a vague dream.

 

He reads the classics, she listens resigned,

Etiquette expected at each romantic meal,

An orchestra fills her as does her captor,

As she relents his wrath gives way.

 

The New year begins in the harshest frost,

Curled in a plush scarlet sofa she reaches,

Takes his hand tenderly and cherishingly,

Pulling his firm form into her, offering her loving surrender.

 

 

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