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