The Secret Lives of Masochists by Aaron BlairYou want what I want,
and I am some cracked
porcelain goddess, highest
of the broken kind. You
supplicate yourself to me,
for love, and I know nothing
if not how to take advantage.
Still, only human, you choose
your boundaries, fastidious
as a wintering ant, a drone.
Set to mine the earth between
too far and not far enough,
you ponder the rules of
agression as they apply
to love. This sort of pain is
foreign to you, dishonorable.
You can't imagine your palm, the
way it would strike my face, like
lightning, nor will you be a daring
enough creature to wantonly straddle
that blurry line. So I coerce you,
knowing by morning you will gaze
upon the bruises that the pursuit
of rough magic have left on me,
and guilt will come to you, gnawing.
I will push you, naked, into the
wilderness, leave you open to its bite.
I will not hear of it, that these tasks
eat away at you. I know your heart.
Your hands will do as I ask them to. 03/09/2004 Author's Note: Writing.com slam poem. The prompt was boundaries, and I decided to go with sexual ones.
Posted on 03/11/2004 Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
|