The dance of a poem.

Walk with me as my soul gives to desire.

Fall with me there.

Descent to debauchery, a dance in luxury.

Trussed up well you need not rely on your knees.

The stroke of a brush or the bite of the handle.

My being, my will, in you to please.

As I begin, I watch you, your skin prickles under my aim.

It tingles and I feel it as my stroke carries pleasure and pain.

Your wetness, your moans and your scent drive my assent.

Your whimpers and cries, your tears, now releasing all fears.

I drive into passion and carry aloft,

You, as you drop.

My sword as it hardens aches for you now,

Stop.

Step back.

Breathe in the scene.

My head drops low in a solemn bow

You are queen,

I serve,

You take me as I give you, I know that and how.

It’s for you that I dance and in you that I hunger.

You, only you,

This moment,

No other.

Sensual now I stroke and I bite,

I lean in and enter this perpetual flight.

In darkness we fall and give way to it all.

In darkness we meet, worlds dissolves as we kiss.

In each thrust that I enter,

my soul,

enthral,

I ride with you downwards and together we fall.

For together, this moment,

Holds no darkness at all.