The Back of the Monkey.

A pet in the lap of the admiralty,

purring to the stroking,

laughing at the joking,

you mean to keep me,

to reward your infidelity,

to please the eye by which you see,

to one day stuff my dead body,

and display the beast in me.

Fixed onto the back of the monkey,

the stray in the street,

bloody hands and dirtied feet,

you mean to tame me –

to take me home and re-name me,

to clean me up and change me,

to alter what Life’s made me.

You think you’ve tapped a bead,

but your eyes misconceive,

oh no, that isn’t me,

and since you fail to see,

the truth comes painfully,

I’ll draw blood before I leave,

there’s no re-naming me.

Pink Slip.

No comforts resurrected
in the absence of his grip
Fleeting aches
body shakes
I am thoroughly affected
by demands made from his lips
In withdrawal
until nightfall
When I’m finally subjected
to the will of his fingertips
Subservience
Willingness
For the form to be perfected
beneath his gentle dominance
Heavenly Hell
I show and he tells
Only his desires reflected
as coils tighten and knots slip
He’s burning
I’m learning
He has taken over ownership.

Your Protestor.

The protestor,

writhing longingly,

beneath the fingers,

that break me,

bucking the system,

I beg you openly,

awash with desire,

afire with the need,

hurt me,

burn me,

make me bleed,

the protector,

spilling solemnly,

appears the specter,

haunting scenery,

plucking the feathers,

I reach desperately,

your kiss is like fire,

burning under feet,

just force me,

own my everything,

drawn to your beckoning,

beneath your carnality,

above my captivity,

never release,

do not set me free.