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A little ash, a painted rose, a name.
A moon shell that is blinding in the sky
He wants to make you suffer for the shame
Of being such a whore you can't deny
Your master's satisfaction as you serve
And mold yourself in the fashion he'd wish;
You offer him the reach of female curves
To punish; he'll apply a focused swish
With cane or martinet or just his palm
That marks your flesh and makes you his again;
He restores you: this quiet state of calm
Just means you love to lick where master came;
Whatever place he chooses you will wash
His cum with names and roses and the ash.
- COMMENTS
AlwaysHungryalmost 8 years agoThe iambic pentameter goes off the rails on this line:
"And mold yourself in the fashion he'd wish; "
You might put it back on the rails with:
"And mold yourself in just the way he'd wish;"
...or something along those lines.
greenmountaineeralmost 8 years agoYou're one of the poets I always make sure I read in New Poems.
You're more meticulous about rhyme and meter than I am, S.O. I would have written "...he wishes/" starting the next line using a trochee, thus maintaining the rhyme and meter for the ear, if not the eye. Somehow "he'd wish" didn't sound right to me.
Nonetheless, a great read as usual.
