Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Turned to Stone

My vision made you kneel,
but the passion of my hands
circled your neck,
then roughly pushed you prone.

You twisted and bucked,
enough for me to ride the
tide of your body,
hard enough to have you crash against
the jagged rocks of me.

My coarse ropes enslaved
your ankles and wrists
the knots of my cruelty bit
into your body, as my rough love
chaffed away your old life.

You grew tender and became
lost in my gift of pain
as i turned to stone

The claws of my rage raked
the darkness of your flesh
till wounds leaked tears
and you fell to your knees.

You opened and drew me in,
your mouth devouring me,
turning me to stone.

the lashes of my crop
branded your flesh with bites, flayed
your skin from bone, and spirit.

The simple sight of you
captured in the darkness of my
iris, held in the dungeon of my being,
again turned me to stone.

The pungent curve of your hips,
and salt tang of your breasts,
enraptures as my beating passion
entered you, and your slick
coral lips began to flow.

Your body become a fountain,
you leaked and splashed
trying to pull from my grasp, but
I bound you with cruelty,
enthralled you with suffering,
till you cascaded into my hands,
and i turned to stone.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

The Passage

My eyes are not chains
to hold you in submission,
nor are they leather cuffs
to bind your wrists to me.

My hands are not a prison
to hold you captive,
nor are they shackles
to hobble you in your passage,

My arms are not whips
to flay the skin from your
back, nor are they canes
meant to tan your hide

My mouth is not a weapon
used to drew tears from
your collapsed self, nor
is it a knife to carve wounds
into your willing flesh

I am not what holds
you, nor am i the
centre that you seek
I am but the path ,
the journey that you
need to take.

But only through me
will you find your self,
your inner servitude.
I am but the means
of your bondage
the purveyor of exquisite agony

The bondage of my eyes
will free you to travel the path
of tears.

The prison of my hands
but awakens you to the
glory of your flesh and
the bliss of surrender.

The whips of my arms
are but the doorway
of pain that you need to
pass through to your
slavery and find the mastering
that you crave.

The knives of my lips
will peel the flesh from
your pretence,
will flay denial of your being
and expose your
sacred submission.

I am but the path you
I am but the journey
you will make
to that pearl of slavery
you have brutally hid for
so long.

I am not the leather, nor floggers,
nor chains, nor ropes
nor the other tools that
so many masters need

I am but the way, the
passage through which
you must pass to reach
your true nature.