You give him a grin
and forget it all when he
grabs a breast.
He smiles that same stellar smile
that trapped you so long
You sweat it all out through sexual labors
all the moments meandering
constant in the frontal lobe of your brain that aches
to cut him loose and send him downstream
to go cascading off a cliff.
Yet you play the martyr to his Mussolini,
tied up and tortured in the town square,
while all the passerby’s look the other way.
Doesn’t become you.
Defiance should rule.
But yet you grin all over again
when he grabs your breast.