Perfect Focus

Your words control my senses.
All I can see is You and yet only
when it pleases You.
I smell Your perfume, a powerful aphrodisiac,
dry and sophisticated, almost decadent,
subtle and overwhelming.
I hear Your whispers and words,
rhythms and silences, controls and echoes.
Your trigger rhymes become a spreading infection
of incurable insatiable devotion.
My touch is frustrated by the hypnotic strength
of Your invisible bondage, a prison of silk
veils that paralyzes as it caresses.
I imagine that I taste the sweet salt sweat
on Your skin as You climax again and again.
I am what You have made me and what
You wanted me to be. You have made me into
what I never dared hope to be.

(c) 2006, william the submissive poet