I don’t want to write you poetry

A poem from a submissive to her dom.

Photo by DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash

I don’t want to write you poetry.

I don’t want to share how your intimate education
enlightens and emboldens me.

Nor how much I crave
this submission.

I don’t want you to know that
your existence in my life
can soothe as much as
it can exasperate.

Nor do I want you to realise
your particular mix of
pleasure and pain
drops boundaries for me.

I don’t want you to find out
how exposed and giddy I feel
when you look at me.

Or admit that having you
inside my head
is a full time erotic distraction.

I don’t want to tell you
that the memory
of your dirty whispered words
wakes me from sleep
in the small hours
all slippery and wet.

I especially don’t want
to describe to you
the primal need
I have for
your cane on my flesh
your hands on my throat
your teeth on my skin
your mouth on my breast
and your cock in my …

I don’t want to write you poetry.