Right from Wrong

Who is to say "What love is"?

I enter a room dark, dingy, dimly lit,

My footsteps ring on floors where tears have hit

The adorable one bound and naked for all to see,

To a cross made from a hanging tree.

Bare bulb burning like a star,

To light the scene where demons are

I am dressed to kill, nothing to say,

Her heart of stone will rue this day

Grey coat removed and pressed shirt too,

My muscles tense with work to do

Mouth stretched tight, she bites her lip,

Trusting eyes stare at my whip

The next endless hour I relish not,

But my lash she needs, sweetly hot

I will hurt her now because I must,

To slowly release her painful lust

My tempest comes, hard and fast,

Tattooing upon fair skin at last

Savage blows rain, blurring quick,

Until my skin with sweat is slick

I cannot, will not cease, until she begs,

By failing strength of perfect legs

At last her body broken down,

She gathers close her tattered gown

My anger now gone and hers is too,

Left behind purple, black and blue

Now the part I love best,

Her hand, her hair, upon my chest

Scattered diamonds on a face still gleam,

Like an icy, slow running stream

Kiss her, caress her, and make her whole,

For she is the mirror of my soul

Her body and curves neatly fit,

And in the twilight here we sit

Until through windows’ morning light,

Reminds me I was alone last night.

Reviews

[Briana Noël Manzan..]

All the way up until the final line I was thinking, "Awh, romantic BDSM poem"
And then at the end: "oh...that's sad..."
Nice twist, an unexpected shift of tone. I enjoyed this piece a lot.

[Scott Thompson]

I am surprised and delighted you enjoyed it...It's about a dream I had after a conversation with a female friend who enjoys that lifestyle