Wrestling with
The primal truth
Of my authority
My beard gleaming
By candlelight
I possess you
Playing dangerous
Games with one another
Wearing nothing but
Agency
The buckle of my belt
Catches the light like
A star
The whistle of the belt
Through the air
The atomic clap
The glory
Of the sting
When I discipline
You
Charged by the positive masculine
That I embody
A Kali prostrated
Before
Her Shiva
The sting goes
Muscle deep
How it chases thoughts
Away to be tested
Pushed and pulled
Into states of warmest
Regard
And after the pain
Soothed
Touched
My kiss in
The places my belt has been
Then the places
It hasn’t
And I will draw
Out the sweet perfumed oil
Of you
Drinking every
Fucking
Drop
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