Taken

I took you—
that’s how I started
my poem, but then those three words
are almost an erotic
poem in themselves.
I can think of so many places where I've taken you
and so many where I will.
to be sure of meaning I looked up 'took'—
to lay hold of; to seize
with the hands; to get into one’s hold
or possession; to seize
and carry away; and even
to take prisoner and I confess that I’ve
taken you by the book—
both Webster’s and Oxford’s.
I’ve discovered that I care very much about
definitions when I fuck you. I once
lay hold of you
in the laundry room, and
in the kitchen I once seized you
and held you
face down over the kitchen table
until you spilled over the table’s edge like
an overflowing bowl;
and once after taking sudden
possession of your opened legs on the hood
of my car and
after making you orgasm
on a womb full of cock and semen
I took you to my place
instead of yours and possessed you again just
to be sure;
and once I seized you
at a party and carried you away
(in a sense)
to a nearby barn where I took you on all fours and
returned you to the party
with your thighs
a wet mess;
but all along (truth be told) it was you
who took me prisoner
who made me do, after all, what you always
wanted me to do
to you.

     

William Crimson | February 24th 2019