Not a play-act

Romeo, that night, entering

Tragic and alone

With my book of Ideals, you overturned – you –

Your sideways look, a command, slightly – but – who?

Opposite, gazing back?

Yet you reach out, and overthrow every ideal – in leather – where I feel safe at home

In this baseness, where Love as an Ideal

In the nights long gone

– love discovered

In its place, you’re the shape I linger on – even in dreams, I wonder, on –

Who am I, domme?