The Apple

I can hear behind my blindfold
the crispy crunching as you chew
... an apple?  While I sit so cold,
bound helpless in restraints that glue
my aching arms aloft, apart,
exposing unresisting skin
so tensed, expecting you to start
to touch, to tease, or tickling.
A flash of light, a photo snapped;
I must submit to your commands.
You can forever keep em trapped
but I feel safe with your demands.

I thought of you last night some more
as there upon my desk I saw
your apple.

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