30 September 2017


By Bud Koenemund

For K.

My hand was made to fit around your throat,
Enjoying the warmth of caramel skin,
Denying breath as my tongue darts and floats
Over flesh, blissfully drinking you in.
I squeeze, while you gasp, clutching at my wrist;
Mind struggling ‘gainst body’s desire,
A loss of control neither can resist –
Surrendering to burn in this fire;
The passion raging ‘til la petite mort
Erupts with a maelstrom of ecstasy;
Our pleasure and pain thunder as we court
That death before collapsing breathlessly.
   Domination and submission feed lust,
   But love matures in these displays of trust.

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