I love it when you use me.
Lighting the fire in my soul,
A slave at your bidding.
My clothes; a veil to hide
Your canvas:
The marks, the bruises,
The bite on my lip,
The saliva on my neck,
The rope burns on my wrists.
Signs of love that I wear proudly.
And while I retreat back
To the working life, with suit & tie,
As a professional working man,
Your voice chains me in place.
"I'm not done with you."*
With each layer falling to the floor,
In their rightful place,
Again,
I gladly offer every inch of my body to your personal satisfaction.
There's something intriguing about one 'owning' the other.