Tuesday, April 12, 2005

National Poetry Month

DirtyTalkinGirl did a very nice tribute to National Poetry Month over at Pussy Talk last week. Proving once again that I am nothing more than a big "joiner in-ner," I offer you the following poem of mine.

By the way. There's a certain amount of irony in the number of hits I'm getting each week from bondage sites. As a writer, lots of topics amuse me. I've written about lots of things I haven't even gotten close to trying. That was the fun of them... for me, anyway. (Speaking of which, I've got a couple of spanking stories some of you might like.) Just because I write about it doesn't mean that it's my kink or even my kink du jour. But I do love to sit in your bedrooms and take notes. Or something like that.

Happy spring, everyone!


elevated



eletoes.jpgthe hand that grips the cord
spreads open and wide.
its fingers extend into cool air,
then collapse inward.
they form a fist.
the nails dig into their own palm:
self-inflicted stigmata,
blood from a shuddering,
somewhat sweaty stone.

toes strain to support
the weight of your 28 years.
they tire, sink, rebound...
begin to let go, think twice,
hallucinate of heels,
the insides of mouths and inseams.

stretched taut, the cords grab hold,
awaken the sinking sleeper.
the rafter creaks
and you almost surrender a sound.
how your wrists must sting!
how your arms and shoulders surely burn!

I offer a reprieve
and you accept, as you must,
defiance and fire have their place
and it is miles from here
as the crow flies.
I lift sweet and naked you,
help spread your legs,
place your tired feet on wooden blocks,
three feet apart, inches high...

wobbling there, not strong enough
to keep the blocks from wiggling,
one slip from hanging,
one misstep from collapse,
beads and streams of juice and sweat
gleaming between your legs
like liquid lenses
reflecting purple red and pink.

so strong,
so controlled.
you've regained the upper hand.
your breathing is your own.
you can do this.
you can do this.
you can...

pyrrhic victory, sweetness.

I pull up a chair and sit,
my face inches from your swollen sex.
can you see, dear heart?
can you imagine the game?
can you fly?

I take out the feather
and begin to play.
Posted by Prospero on 04/12/05 at 01:08 PM

Comments:

  • Oh. My. God. Prospero.

    More? Please?

    DTG xxoo

    Posted by DTG xxoo  on  04/13/05  at  12:57 PM

  • Spanking? *smile* Thank you for the wonderful poem Prospero.  Maybe because I was partial to the subject but still *sigh*

    Posted by Blue  on  04/13/05  at  02:15 PM

  • Thank You, Sir.

    I’ll have another.

    Posted by lili-g  on  04/13/05  at  06:14 PM

  • oooh is there a poem pt II?

    Posted by JeN  on  04/14/05  at  04:03 PM

  • The whole lot of you are incorrigible!

    Posted by Prospero  on  04/17/05  at  12:57 AM

  • Really, Prospero? Then maybe we need some discipline.

    Posted by lili-g  on  04/17/05  at  01:48 PM

    • Page 1 of 1 pages

Name:

Email:

Location:

URL:

Smileys

Remember my personal information

Notify me of follow-up comments?

Next entry: From Max to Nell, Part 1

Previous entry: Wascally Wabbit

<< Back to main