in a series of reactions calculated,
measured to the nearest tenth
and timed just so,
surrender scours my flesh
as it washes me clean and bright
as unfused bone;
i become a limber branch– an extension
of your trunk, rippling tributary to your silent river
and in the space of seconds clicking into place
around each hair on my body
i bend; i twist at a touch to my spine,
suddenly agile, to find lips meeting toes
in a whispered conversation peppered with obscene interjection.
twist a lock of my hair and another door opens;
i am your hall of mirrors, infinitely echoing your glory.
my breath is tangled somewhere in my trachea
and i think i hear it whistling rather melodiously
through a crack in my armor,
but this war was won before it was realized
and it is time for you to collect the spoils.