Not Me.

Revisiting…

a familiar thing,

that trails behind me like a string;

that same ol’ gnawing,

sense of drowning,

suffocating…

pressure building,

beneath a surface’s sheen;

steadily weighing,

heavily displaying,

alienating…

a full timepiece,

that’s already bending my knees;

feelings release,

freedoms decrease,

second guessing…

constantly testing,

the tolerance of my abilities;

uncertainty,

insecurity,

there’s no controlling me.

 

Awakening Giants.

A rhythmic, rainy day
Live Oaks swaying;
of wind-blown,
dark-tarnished
antique cutlery,
spoons hung from forks
to a sun-porch –
by disintegrating
fishing string;
the fog clings
a smoldering fire’s
taunting smile;
a veil of mystery
suspending
everything for miles;
thunder rolls –
the molasses-slow
awakening
the Giants
from the Isles;
It’s a well-planned
last stand, tea party,
we priestesses sit,
card-tabled by
light mahogany –
a séance to the dead
and a curse for the living.

Mastered.

I’m just another,
broken down,
submissive,
thumb-sucker,
an exhausted insomniac,
painfully desperate…
willingness –
it’s called, I guess,
my carnal curiosity,
and right then:
it occurs to me,
tonight will be spent,
next to your naked body,
a quantum time-bomb,
ticking away,
in my genes,
recessively,
a submissive’s lament,
swallows the day,
that follows the night,
spent by me,
bowing down,
at your feet –
My Dominant King,
slowly but surely,
owning me,
whatever it is that you,
might want me to be,
I will try my best,
to please –
the master who,
teaches me these things,
one last card,
folded into my sleeve,
I’m bound to you,
you’ve broken me,
I can’t move –
unless your hand,
guides me to…

Mastered.

I’m just another,
broken down,
submissive,
thumb-sucker,
an exhausted insomniac,
painfully desperate…
willingness –
it’s called, I guess,
my carnal curiosity,
and right then:
it occurs to me,
tonight will be spent,
next to your naked body,
a quantum time-bomb,
ticking away,
in my genes,
recessively,
a submissive’s lament,
swallows the day,
that follows the night,
spent by me,
bowing down,
at your feet –
My Dominant King,
slowly but surely,
owning me,
whatever it is that you,
might want me to be,
I will try my best,
to please –
the master who,
teaches me these things,
one last card,
folded into my sleeve,
I’m bound to you,
you’ve broken me,
I can’t move –
unless your hand,
guides me dominantly…

Awakening Giants.

A rhythmic, rainy day
Live Oak tree chiming;
of wind-blown,
dark-tarnished
antique cutlery,
spoons hung from forks
to a sun-porch –
by disintegrating
fishing string;
the fog clings
a smoldering fire’s
taunting smile;
a veil of mystery
suspending
everything for miles;
thunder rolls –
the molasses-slow
awakening
the Giants
from the Isles;
It’s a well-planned
last stand, tea party,
we priestesses sit,
card-tabled by
light mahogany –
a séance to the dead
and a curse for the living.