Your pale skin wrapped
only in a black corset
and ebony hair,
the welts begin their ascension
towards grace.
No need to burn when
I am around for I bring
enough pain to satisfy
all of our dark desires.
That time is dying and
I have new rituals for your
milky curves.
Tonight you crawl through me
as I bind your ankles
to your wrists,
my thoughts to
your blood.
Submission, like honey.
Slow and ageless,
forever ready for my tongue.
Tasting bliss centuries old
and loosening the knots
inside, we lick our wounds clean.
Time and distance
don't exist in our cathedral.