The Dance

The tempo changes repeatedly,
shifting us from waltz to sultry
tango, but he is always in the lead,
guiding my movements, as if my body

could subconsciously steer his hands.
which, solid and warm above my waist,
wordlessly decide, slowly or in haste,
just how much I can withstand.

Taking my wrist between his fingers,
placing them against his neck, he straightens
my posture.  His gaze controls my attention,
and his silent commands linger.

The music plays, but the room recedes,
as he manages my every move with ease.

This has been a Wicked Wednesday post, in response to a prompt involving BDSM.

This has also been a poetry challenge poem...#5 in an ongoing series based on The Poet's Garret list of poetic forms. --Australian Sonnet