BDSM Poems — Bruises: Revisited

I hide myself away in bruises, when

His hands,

They claw, they grip, cajole my flesh til raw;

Rough palms,

They work, entwined with skin once frigid then;

Thick fingers

Expel the baggage; slaps, slight scratches, pinch

The pain

Away

I hide myself aware in punctures, when

His teeth,

At home, they latch upon my pallid form;

Canines:

A vice so tight will certainly split the beam;

Gnarled tooth,

The left, uneven, adds a flair, a sign,

His own

Here

His hands, his teeth, his cock, they all sought rights

To me

To own, to turn, distort with care, with me

Considered

A thing; valued, set free of rights — choices;

Freedom

Is not for taking, solid vows stop that;

Success

Met

He finds my soul in bruises, punctures fresh;

Waits;

He binds, I’m gagged with straps, tight cuffs and ropes

They catch;

He blinds, he mutes, my senses gone: a slave

Born from

A thought, I saw not what I found within

A Boss

For a slave