Bound

Something about
the way well-worn leather moves against my skin
gripping tightly around my wrists and ankles
secures that hidden part of me that is ever-spinning,
tightening lustfully or
churning with anxiety or
floating with elation underneath the pretty girl the rest of the world sees.

Something about my cuffs
grounds me
in the most freeing way,
liberating me from the illusion of control
from the shadow of what might be
and tying me to the present.
Each small movement speaks:
Right now, focus.
Right now, breathe.
Right now, serve.
Right now, peace.