Ritual

Side by side, perfectly measured and matched
She works by feel as much as by sight
Candles flickering tongue turning her into shadow
Only her voice remains, and the outline that is etched
Into memory, perfect curves stealing breath
Each sure touch captivating
A prayer, silent, balances on dry lips
As she begins, taking each wrist
So carefully and yet there is iron in her grip
Cold and unyielding as she binds me

Her prisoner

With cords of love, unbreakable and eternal
A present adorned with ribbons and bows
Wrapping paper long since stripped
Revealing so much beyond flesh and blood
Bound by love and trust, flush
With desire, a flower open, the blush
Of spring, scented and sticky sweet
The taste of honey on swollen petals
A symphony of opium fills my lungs
I breathe in her words

You are mine.

Another painless death, so unlike the little lost boy
Who plucked wings so needlessly,
Tearing them in tantrums of rage
She binds them to me with rope
Erases the scars with kisses so hot they leave burns
I belong to her, like the night is owned by the stars,
The howl by the storm, calmed as the winds
Blow themselves out against the cliffs, the same ones against which angry waves once broke
as I once broke, the pain of my soul as so much greater
Then the one of my body, As ribs gave way
The memory is gone as she traces them one by one, her touch healing

You are mine.

A different pain washes through me, cleansing
The bite of each needle, white hot steel
Pure and beautiful, punctuated by her whisper,
As they slowly pierce my bound body, each one accompanied by a single word,
she repeats the mantra over
And over
And over
Until I am nothing but pain.

You. Are. mine.

I am hers, body and soul, my words trapped by her hand
Translated by rising hips and the sheen of sweat upon my nakedness
My moans prayers that take flight, offered freely
As are the tears that course down my cheeks
I am, at last, set free.