you left me

you created me
and then you left
me stroking like the pathetic being i am
hearing the echoes of your heels rattle
shaking me like a maracca
waking my balls to tingle and scream
waiting for your return

tormented in the cell

tormented

waiting nicely

not a word
as rain's film announces cars with bold splashes
the mere hint of you swarming my dendrites
with only my thought's ping pong
heart calling for the possibility
that fingers caress a cingular's node
just shy of the last number
that it might push ok

the clock passes away its smile
and i coddle the rejection
warming the distant place
where i am held

held...

so truly

do i hang on silence

reading into its tension

its crinkled tea leaves winking

hallucinating flippant judgment from its purveyor

so falsely

does its meaning rain

and drench paper cloaks

that drip with memory's ink

staining each focused breath

who said innovation breads attention

how does it apply to the second string?

the benched fringe of anyone's need

i put faith that adoration yields scraps of allowance

but secretly wonder if it simply yields annoyance

a view from within

http://superiordommes.com/freegallery/pages/IMG_1039%20copy.html

tormented by your own words

i thought of kneeling there on that rubber matt
penning index cards
in an elaborate game you play with me
i stroke as fuel
under strict orders never to release
one word per index card
from which i may conduct but one sentence
which you view from a webcam
if it amuses you...you visit me to reward me with pleasure
the granting of you watching me stroke
and letting me stare at your heels
leaving me with the number of words i may use in my next sentence
if it displeases or bores you...you visit to punish
a face slapping and a lecture
on how your time is valuable
and i must not waste it
with poor sentences
you are a cruel teacher
offering desperation and denial vs. strict psychological domination
regardless
left to contemplate each ordeal
in a long, prolonged, protracted, suffering
its only expression to accompany moans and whimpers
single sentences to allure pleasure

to rot or not

the connection went down
and i left with silence to ponder
i swam to its far end
and turned backward
watching the ripples fade
as it caught up with me
till only my heart set its pressure outward
echoing among not even a leaf
for the dark cell
wishing for its owner
rang absent of an answer

scrapping crumbs of a faded past
where clicking heels led me in
to tantalizing hors dourves
eagerly dished out
in the palms of polished nails
only to be snatched away
snarling at the deep hunger
it shakes pointed fingers upon

'suffer yes
but complaints may be left in the corner
piling high
for you to relish
and feed from
because you are your own food
and I your tax'

'I will come for your tears
when time allows
till then you may pen
please for my eyes to see
and if they reek of pleasure for me
I might end your rot
or not'

words

you said
'you like words, I like touch'
au contraire
words are touch's memory
a torqued overture

you underestimate my insatiable appetite for lust
for want
for prolonged states of nothing else
but the strain of need
even if sorting through miles of syllables
pixels and syntax
yields only a moment to be an audience
to your charitable wickedness

how else does need blossom from a distance?
but by the prod of thought's sword
pricking a collection of points
with needling ideas
that sizzle libido to jump on its horse
and ride yonder toward its source

my feet dance among word mines
hardly avoiding their hot pointy edges
following a maze to your smile
a knowing smirk
that has seen it all so many times
the desperation
that has lured many by a mere curled finger
guiding its prey
toward the white of your fire

i would jump long after
the skill of your touch left its marks
replaying the ring of your voice's tone
the words like skeleton keys
still hanging around your neck
with my doors left wide open
creaking whimpers of want
of all i ever want
to suffer and remember it
and live in its afterbite

abandonment

those of us that fixate
think it is all for us
that you speak to us in silent struts
for what is fixation
but unattended attention
upon the wake of your voice, or staccato imprints from pumped heels

abandonment
do you even utter the word to such distant admirers
arent we that read your pixeled expressions
left carcasas
feeding an endless last meal off your poignant ideas
bound and gagged in a cell would be a mere realization
of what hours of visiting silent images inflicts upon mind
are your taunting questions an invitations to your inventions?

oh how i flow to the dream
hearing distant cackles of laughter
sprinkled with the clicks of heels scattered about a long day
of kept time
of wanting
turning to need
rising up through my navel
reaching through the smallest crack of light
out to for your scent
wishing a lecture
from dismantling eyes
upon my helplessness
furthering its offer
what more suffering can i endure? i whimper
as you feed me larger helpings of monotony

interludes of punishements and strict talk
weave a long day's quilt
your visits punchy and sharp with correction
then long contemplation
alone
as i slip pleas in the form of prose
beneath the door of my cell
hoping the heel's brisk path
finds them and with forward arched back
and hand
lifts them to thine eyes

House Music

the pulse moved hips and shoulders
driving smiles and flirtatious eyes
you could feel it rushing blood to organs

i stared at the floor
listening for the structure
waves of crescendos
making souls come even more alive

her fingers manipulated and caressed controls
which morphed bits into patterns she adored
and others adored her for
as hormone fed gyrations pumped life
into seeking eyes and luscious tongues
working through a hiearchy of protocol
cubs seeking mates
manes with beating chests
tummy's with winking navels

while ears suffer the delight of pressure
leaving their ringing mark
glowing for days

it was all research
but i loved the heels

quiet radiance

my stare lingers past the point of a glance
and short moments later you notice
you are not typically what lures
but i always look deeper
and wonder what you are like when you cum
are you a screamer?
that is always a benchmark for me
does she scream when she orgasms
what would make her scream
hours of oral?
her own masturbation?
while i am tied at the foot of her bed?

i deserve none of these rituals
nor the privelage of being in their presence
yet...when in the anonymity of my mind
i watch and wonder
and seek what my inuition can deduce from a stare

and then there is that moment when you notice
the burn from an iris
the male peer
that by habit is brushed off
ignored
and yet it in that moment
the way it is handled
that shows the degree of need
hardly a split second
it is sometimes revealed...
a want...a confidence...a need...a dominance
a blush...a submissiveness...
till composure grasps
and purpose dictates
and i revisit my food
as to not turn into a creep

after

Oh my god
my entire body speaks
"Yes Mistress"
my torso flapping its gums
its limbs
its attached grey matter
which seeps through my
ears and forhead no longer speaking with its apendages
it drips with sorry
for being too pathetic
yet it climbs its nation's pole
to the very top of a scream
thank you to your generous aim
for your invention's grace
and torque
as the memories rush
through corpusles
remembering the turning
the slow tight spin of
me on the spigot
amongst your absent mercy

how did i get so lucky?
to drip out of myself
at the puddle you
point to as my transgression
you ordered not to
i weep inside into it
yielding to your might
its reach and Shibari grip
so unyielding
even as it teeters
and sways to the
finese of your use
i yield to its endless
force
and seep into the wake of
you...into the dream
you set me sail
upon the ship's ride
into the darkness of unending need

before

the sound of the cage
blinds my ear's mumbles
it rattles and brings on a flood
that washes away desperate sweaty words
that screatch through pores

im in the cell of your will
im the fly in your blue
papered o the bite of
the words you dig into me

im in the cell of your will
im in the cell of this pill
i ramble on so despeately
the D-ring imprints its memory
Oh I am so grateful for Thou
letting me see the i of me

i am a wack
hardly a speck
i cant feel the limbs of a predicate
i am a ship
riding your storm
Your delectable fingers raking me born
your targeting tongue shoots words
that pierce my delicate mind

i am less than the air you used
to make me a mime

Oh why cant i muster a flow
why cant my mumbles be grown
im less than a fallen hair
washed away with a stare
why cant i cling to an amusement for you?

im pounding inside
the paint drips along
as you sip at my brain
a bland grey saute, hardly of taste

where is my me?
left inside my shoe?
my fixations are real
yet they give me no clue
will i be able to read
this scribble to you?
what's left of my thoughts?
the weight of my place
takes me away like
tomorrows fate

Grce

was the link a tease?
an empty tickle to my libido
an itch left to gnaw

or am i simply a tchatchki for your menagerie
another trophy from the sea of want you create
an aching swollen need that occupies an occasional afterthought
in the business of teasing - so many dangling particples

i would rather crawl up the ladder of your words
as occasional as they might be
and reach the twinkle that made you even look
and try as desperately as my feeble reach can muster
to touch it as a reminder of the echoes
of frustrated moans that fail to reach your ears
kept in the cold cellar of unattended memories

even if silence is the answer i am grateful for whatever its motivation

ymy

his muffled pleas
squeeked out of corners and bounced from ceiling
whispering smiles in her ears

their wide eyed glee
of different dna
cook a tense bliss
and yield a certain stillness over his wiggle

as her hands work the contraptions of predicament
helpless sighs and storms
want overtakes resignation

she applies another

her will plays out its game
his ache
a backdrop of overtones to her staccato
he only has his eyes to blink
morse code
that his body screams to convey
but she is concentrating
'poor baby' she thinks but does not utter
his eyes roll
as she taps the center of his ache
with a determined crop
she towers over his moments
each tap ratcheting need in different directions
please stop, please more

she stands in his cockpit
navigating beyond the day

silence

silence speaks sirens
of bottled roars
of whimpering eyes
and frustrated sores
feeble dendrites
finding the next of nothing
swim in a wanting soup
spiced with distant sighting

moist

those resting thighs
across a knee, ending in heels
suck my windand weaken vertabre
like a star's beam
i feel desperation filling my sail
and guiding me
where gravity meets cold tile
and my cheek upon it
as low as it can be
lets eyes strain upward
sat their glorious length
my breath whispers a moist 'thank you'

ly

like a genie from the noisy chatter
you enter my frame
the whispers bubble inside me
and i try to calm them to be cordial
you know what i want
but it grows too tall
i cry in the palm of your hand
of wanting wantof pursed need
of stripped cover from your luminance
as it bakes me
please let me crawl into forgotten crevices
darkened with cruel mind inventions
leave me to utter memes of desperation
grasping at the sonic carrots of your day
i think i know how you do this to me
i wish to experience the why of it
the ache of what is not nextthe stillness of waiting
whimpering in the experience of intent
how can youhow can you nothow would you
how will you notwhy, when, how...gibberish comes so easily
yet there is so much more to say

covered

through shivers and daisies
and bikini line woes
the bright leaves are upon her
as she rests before the snow
lying atop of 8 seasons of zines
the curves of their covers
caress her fine lines
he walks in poses around her
as she giggles inside
her sterness above him
like pulling strings of a mime
he hangs all about
with candle in mouth
his birthday suit needy
of her dry cleaning eyes
he hums her a tune
mumbled through candle wax mouth
and kneels right above her
to feel the wind from her blow
the room is now dark
carbon fills the air
and the zines stick to her body
like an aching old year