The Mistress of Time
Her spring curls wound tight upon her coifed head
she was the mistress of time and took him to her bed.
Once there, she’d do amazing things with her tiny hands
He lost count of every hour as seconds slipped into sand.
She coaxed him on and on and his desire at last, unlocked
until he was no longer himself, but only a clock stopped.
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg