The hurt
Sourced in love
Clothed in discipline
We live in an
Age where we
Witness
Rather than participate
And you
My sweet, are aching
To play
To feel my fingers
Pull your hair
To see yourself
Tested
Until the sweat runs
Down your thighs
Knowing as rough
As far as
things might go
A word draws
The curtain across
So when my
Gift of true feeling
Guided by the pain
Is offered
You receive it
Knowing that
On your knees
Hands bound
You know what
Birds in flight
Must feel
MB Blissett 
lovely
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The contrast between “bound” and “birds in flight” – it’s quite surprising and it takes this poem to the next level! Wow.
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Reblogged this on sechwaazpoetrytothebits and commented:
This is awesome
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