Untitled (for the moment)

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Untitled (for the moment)

Can you give your self away, are you ready to give in?
By trust or lust, do you fall or stand, are you willing to break your walls?
Do have faith, if your are ruled? Lorded upon, made to serve?
If it meant that you where charished that you where loved?
Does it make you sick, twisted, perverse to be at beck and call?
If the reward is guilty pleasure, is there guilt at all?

You beg, but begging brings you nothing, you stand against the grain,
Admired for your passion, but belittle for your vane
humility is not humiliation, even in the throws of carnal thoughts
If you take to your knees while he stands does it make you lost?
If you life in service, and his life is to reflect,
Does the symbiotic state, conculde it is perfect?

He takes you up by your hair and with force plants his lips,
You open unto him as you open unto the seed,
Planting that instilled by his needing longing wants
That no other could satisfy that animal hunger
No other sweet or tempting treat could bring him askew
That no world woman could remove his need of you.

As he makes you gasp, as you make him moan,
As he pulls from the throne, a thrall back from the edge
You take him with you by your love, and he can be made whole.
You give him life and purpose, you give, and he recieves
He gives everything he is, and all you ever need,
He takes you in deep in to his soul, and says "without I will bleed."

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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Quietcoyote’s Poems (16)

Title Comments
Title Comments
I hate love 0
Bleeding out 0
Smoke, Love, and Sex 0
Untitled (for the moment) 0
One 0
The right kind of wrong 0
Esphixia 0
The Gargoyle and the Vampire 0
Walking South of Heaven 0
My Eternity 0
In the eyes of love 0
Time 0
it ends 1
Sweet Days remembered 0
The fallen and the risen 0
Our King come home. 0