You are my captor.
And my poor soul your captive,
dwelling within the walls of your heart.
I pray never to break free.
I have nothing to give.
But bills of words, I will spend,
on this white island
with ink as my only cellmate.
Bail me not.
Never as of right,
nor with leave of a court.
For she is my cot and sole arbiter of my soul
This captivity, a bliss.
And her torture, blessings
An emancipation from cruelty.
What more could I hope for?
