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.

Since You Asked.

The very time when

you came lumbering in

the dizziness began

my head wanted to swim,

 

a spank on a slippery butt-cheek

swallowed by lust, immediately

happy to thrust myself on your feet

an instantaneous subservient deed,

 

I suffered fits of double vision

a drunken, poisoned intuition

intoxication of the madly driven

strained my ears to better listen,

 

I entertained thoughts of you and me

while I sat in the corner so quietly

watching how you were successfully

strong-arming me, telepathically,

 

I swooned at your easy speech

I ached for your hands to dominate me

I would’ve begged, just as easily

you struck me most exceptionally,

 

all I will as say to what we became

how I never tire of screaming your name

You’ve said I’ve proven impossible to tame

and that was no matter, it’s all in the game,

 

you know I’m fragile and broken to bits

it never stops you from handling shit

when it comes to me, you still so “do it”

there it is: I dare you to chew it up and swallow it.

 

 

 

Re-Master.

“A watched pot never boils…”
he said,
as he was leaving me –

got me tangled in his coils…
bowed head,
on the edge of pleading –

his fingertips are forceful…
sacred,
his touch has come to be –

in withdrawal and mournful…
naked,
when he’s about to leave –

he tends to find me on my knees,
taken,
waiting for him subserviently –

the same as I am when he leaves again,
god-forsaken,
until he returns to re-master the scene.