I was trapped that Sunday
I said yes I love you.
Countless hours went past
He still holds the key to my privates.
I wanted to steal the key
Fondled myself at nightfall
The new bed creaked
The windows muffled the noises outside
It was me...loving myself
I had stolen the key for a while.
Then I met a man-
Felt tempted to give him the stolen key
He could fondle me another way
I could let the windows open that night
If he came-
I would tell him it was my key
He must have dropped his somewhere.
But I was afraid of losing the key
Afraid the man would steal it from me
The key...that I had signed away
It was his key...
My body was no bread
That anyone I wished could partake of...
It was by law, by right his
He tried his hand at being Jesus.
I thought...
I left the key back in his pocket
It was a large pocket
Large enough to hold numerous keys
My key would be safe there
Though it might be lost amongst other keys.
I thought...
Let it remain in his pocket
I could at least recognise it my self
I could steal it when he was away
I could love myself just the way I would want him to...
My way.
Several Sundays have passed
I am jaded.
The key has rusted
I have no use for it now
Neither does he.
He trusts me with the key
His key to My privates
The other keys are long lost and gone
My key remains.....in paper
In his pocket
At times unused on my old bed.
