Polka Dot Heels

There's a woman in my mind
She's wearing my red heels with polka dots
Long dark hair tied with ribbon
White skin a slash in the darkness

There's a man there too
Poor soul
Naked, hands bound with chord
Not red chord though
She doesn't seem the type for cliches

There's a plain wooden chair
It's the chair she'll ride him on
Pushing his flesh against her flesh
against the grains of wood
Her thighs
twin pistons of milk and ivory

I wonder if she ever unties him
I wonder why she's wearing my shoes