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.

I
live
the
poetry
that
I
cannot
write..

Then
You were the snow that I tried to shovel
You were the leaves that I tried to rake
You were the rain that I tried to collect
You were the grass that I tried to cut

But I got so tired of working so hard

Now
You are the snow that I play in
You are the leaves that I run through
You are the rain that I dance in
You are the grass that I lay in

You were not the one that needed to change