Your posture falters as the door closes behind us.
I see the momentary anxiety,
That subtle hesitation as one life ends and another begins,
Despite your trembling efforts to play it off.
My omniscience does not miss your shuddering anticipations,
As the heavy portal closes in a hushed prayer that seems so far away.
But for all that a door's closing means to us,
The gentle whisper of metal latches to trap us -
It booms out with a raging thunder,
Deafening even the shades of emotion that whirl between us.
I do not blame you -
Each time that door closes you murder yourself,
Only to rise like a caged Phoenix,
Reverently placing the lead of your chains into my open palm,
Offering yourself up to me in blessed sacrifice.
What terrors you must spy crawling in the mists below you,
As you lean perilously over the crumbling edge of that cliff,
Before I reach out to take hold of you with a firm resoluteness.
A solid hand upon your shoulders to command you.
Yet you recover from your flinch wordlessly;
Never do you turn away from the only thing I have to offer.
Radiating from you as you take to your knees,
I cannot help but almost drown in them -
These pounding waves of self-fulfilled bliss.
Drunken fancy strikes me as I breathe in that scent,
Reflecting in me that contentment in your place and in mine.
Power unlike any I have wrestled with before now scours my veins,
Receding and collapsing in intensity between each of my breaths.
Only to violently surge forth consuming all of my flesh in its path,
Bursting the seams of my self-control -
Rendering me no more man than beast,
Each second those fluttering orbs of divinity lock with my soulless depths.
Sweeter made is the taste of your heart and soul -
More gratifying the sharp edge to every whimper, sob and moan -
That you should throw yourself into the bloody den of my feral beast,
With such mind-numbingly pleased abandon.
Oh, I could brutalize every obedience out of you I should demand.
A cold and unyielding sentinel -
More the concept of an expectation of unquestioning fealty,
Never the living compassion for your own humanity.
We both know that I could.
And we both know that you might even acquiesce -
That you could bleed out some measure of peace in discipline so enforced.
But wouldn't such a life be so hollow a vision of this dream?
Superbly, here we have come by your own choice -
Not by my strength but by yours.
The strength of your knees derived from a lifetime upon them -
But because you draw that strength into yourself from Mother Earth herself.
Not because I stuck you down to them with each tryst,
Until I broke the strength of your legs to hold yourself up.
Ah, but so do the words die miserably upon the twisting flesh of my tongue.
How could the rude boundaries of language ever convey such elemental beauty,
That assaults my thoughts from an all-enveloping cloud of love?
How could I ever make you see what I see?
How could I ever make you feel what I feel;
To feel the blossoming warmth of jubilation -
Chased by the throat-scorching, frozen acid of dread?
Jubilation that it is your honor to fawn over me so.
That you give yourself because it is how you feel most alive -
Surrendered to me, and to me alone.
Complete in knowing that all I have to promise you in life is enough.
That it completes you through your completion of me,
That you are served and given purpose through your service to me.
Dread to know how fragile you are for all of the strength in your spine.
I wonder that you have seen beneath this mask of control I wear;
The raging beast and demon that are my true selves,
Caged in barely-solid chains of guilt and grief more than strength.
Oh how paralyzed I lie at night in my dreamless tribulations,
Mind racing ghosts of itself to dance first through shattered fantasies,
Of tearing your self apart in an all-consuming feast of lust and violence.
I wonder that you have felt the strain in my arms when we meet as lovers,
Struggling to hold back that blackness of my soul,
With all the same crazed intensity that I work across your body.
It strikes absolute horror into me how easily I could destroy you -
Send up in flames every vision of trust that clouds your eyes from me -
Simply by losing my primal self in such moments of passion.
Yet never have you turned your face from me.
Even when I cannot wrestle that monster to the ground,
You refuse to move from your place -
Perched on the ground just beside me.
Instead I feel the gentle butterfly's caress of your fingertips upon me,
A gesture of strength far superior to my own fruitless chest-thumping.
You bear each scarred or branded letter across your skin as a badge of honor,
Each a medal of service to be worn proudly for your war against my beast.
It only excites you when my rage boils over the edges of my control,
Shattering my calm until I strike you down and ravage you as my outlet.
You suffer the brunt of this and all the more to come,
Just because you can be of use to me.
Just because you think you can save me.
Just because you desire nothing more than to be the release for my wrath,
Placated to know that your job may never be done.