Sorry. I'm a reviser at heart - tried not to repost, but can't leave the other by itself when I'm beta testing.


The hand upon the whip is not unkind
And has caressed this apprehensive flesh;
Your whispered voice has quieted my mind.
The hart at hunt soon finds herself enmeshed
In silken cords that tighten till they bind,
And panting, haunches gleaming, waits the knife:
So are my flesh and spirit now aligned.
Renouncing former flight, abjuring strife,
In silent genuflection wait the kiss
Of subtle leather or of gentle lip.
Which dreading more – the whisper or the hiss,
Enslaving touch, or stinging of the whip?

Victim and priestess, my own to rend apart,
But yours to take as offered, my beating heart.