[Olga says:]
I'm tourniquets, I'm a straitjacket,
my love constricts, entwines, winds, binds;
I'm serpentine,
an anemone, something marine,
wet, silk, and saline.
Sleight of tongue and an ample hand,
this tuxedoed man,
lock-picker, lip-licker.
My God on high I heave like seas,
oh, or death throes;
I bend bones but my next split might be at the seams.
Oh, I'm frayed so may snap oh.

[Houdini says:]
My fingers fumble with this hot, slippery knot.
'Tween my cheeks hides the key to the lock.
Gowned and bagged in rubber ropes.
Was finesse, now feeble gropes.
Will I choke in this pose of coils and bows?
My, oh my, oh, please don't squeeze so,
I'm sunk so, my beams groan.
For my next trick my knees get weak,
oh, my grit goes,
I might explode.