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Not Forthcoming

I say to myself, 
   'Never again!'
No more jumping through hoops
or running when he calls.
Yet when his Bentley pulls in
and the driver lets him out,
   my heart pounds. 
I see his bag of tricks,
filled with lotions, 
and a riding crop or two.
He'll neatly arrange the night stand.
Methodically undressing
and expecting the same of me.
We're tightly scripted and haven't much time
and so I perform as a circus act.
But such spontaneity 
doesn't easily
to me.

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