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Click hereLooking down in the pools of water
puddled like so much gutter-rain
did they reflect My thoughts
was it an abysmal reflection or
simply a caricature of a Man
who looked back
Often it seems that I never know what to say
twisted and torn,
My tongue lies in tatters
That hand riven
My gaze gone cold
Silken are the strands as they fall on her soft flesh
Slight are the tremblings as the leather beats and raises Worlds:
welts again
I can’t seem to get away from that
The room at the end of the pathway
My mind strewn
she lies waiting for My return
twisted, just the way I left her
Tied to the foot of the bed
Wary of eye
lacklustre her gaze
and when she sees Me enter
soft silk robes in My hands
perchance the glimmer awakens
only to die Yet again
Her face covered
her form exposed
Paraded through the streets
again and anon
On her way to the Tree.