Not from my eyes are they forming
Not rolling my cheek, adorning
The leave of silvery trails aren’t falling
They are red and from a river this morning

Gathered in beads of rippling pain
Shattering from a now split vein
Down pallor skin of reddened shame
Thoughts now stolen in some sick game

Biting sting of sharpened blade
Singing hum of pulse does fade
Violent thoughts of death lend aid
Screaming voice of tears is made

When you snug­gle closer 
and purr in your sleep, 
you are his kitten

When you kneel between his legs 
grace­fully accept­ing the band around your throat, 
you are his girl

When you squirm across his lap, 
your tush rosy red and tin­gling with inti­macy, 
you are his brat

When you rub your­self all over him 
leav­ing liq­uid pas­sion in your trail, 
you are his slut

When you devour him deeply, pleas­ing him, 
solely there for his enter­tain­ment, 
you are his whore

When you growl and strain against your leash, 
hump­ing his leg for release, 
you are his bitch

When you sur­ren­der to his strength, his power, 
when you sac­ri­fice your body on the altar of his desire, 
you are his prey

When you stay still, quiv­er­ing, unspeak­ing, 
your only pur­pose to be used, to be mounted, 
you are his female

And still…

When you melt into his arms 
and lean your head against his chest 
and whis­per quietly,

“I am yours”

At that moment, 
you own him.