Submission

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You know I love you
since we have shared your darkness
and I am still here;
kneeling
willing.

I am not the kind of woman
one would expect to be here
the candles flickering
and the row of neat hooks
on the wall where you hang the toys
I fear and long for.
I cannot get the burn
to dissipate.
I cannot turn off your voice
hidden in the shadows,
the cleft
of my soul.

It is there, inherent,
my submission.
My wanting you like this,
to be raised up a goddess
and to dispel my fear
through your control.

Please.

Please.
Master.

And that soft brush of the whip
and the flood
of sanctity.

And always, my love,
like a flower that blooms
only in your darkness.

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