The Hands Behind the Wheel

Rocky Lagou

Whenever you take the wheel, my life is in your hands.

 

Steer with caution, my love. Lest we crash and hear glass shatter, the sparkly shards scatter -

 

And our love - did it even matter?

 

Darling, the hands behind the wheel are thine.

Yet my heart would still be fine…

 

If only they were mine.

  • Author: Rocky Lagou (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 26th, 2024 17:57
  • Comment from author about the poem: Control. And self-control. Enjoy!
  • Category: Love
  • Views: 19
  • User favorite of this poem: Doggerel Dave.
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Comments4

  • Doggerel Dave

    I found that very neat and very funny, Rocky.... but then I always enjoyed something subtle, on the dark side....

    • Rocky Lagou

      Amazing! Thank you kindly. I’m glad that you could resonate and identify the varying emotions and meanings behind this one.

    • orchidee

      Good write R.

      • Rocky Lagou

        Thanks a bunch 🙏

      • Garth Rakumakoe

        The duality of love, acceptance and desire screams so loud in this piece Rocky, yet, at the same time, lovingly so. You weave a blessed pen my friend. 🙏🏼

        • Rocky Lagou

          Oh thanks so much dear poet ❤️Your words mean the world to me. I wanted this wheel metaphor to be both physically and metaphorically possible. Like the crash that transpires could be because of a partner’s reckless and selfish choices or it can be representative of the lack of control that submissive partners have in relationships. In that case, the submissive partner is just in the “passenger seat,” unable to grab hold of the “wheel” that is being held by the other partner. Sending you much love and peace ☮️

        • Neville



          a bit like pain I guess, (well actually I know) there is that point where any appeal or positivity goes out the window ..

          Disclaimer .. I am not a masochist or sadist, but I work with a lot of em .. Very much enjoyed Rocky .. Neville

          • Rocky Lagou

            Pain is “painfully” present in this poem. Glad you caught onto that. Like you noted, that initial honeymoon phase or “appeal” dissolves and what’s left is a chaotic duo speeding 100 mph towards on oncoming truck. I’m sure you’re not a masochist, I wonder how you work with them?



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