You are my mistress, I, your servant.
A Poem of Addiction
You are my mistress, I, your servant, at your beck and call.
Without summons, I attend you, willing to let you control me.
Your touch, caressing my lips, your slender form, my fingers groping to embrace.
Wanting your heat, your fragrance, your intoxicating breath.
You are the Praying Mantis, female of the species, I, the mate.
Even as I hold you, taste you, inhale your passion,
You gnaw at my body, ready to strike, to kill, to devour me.
A toxic lover, demanding my attention, but giving nothing in return.
Could I but crush you, extinguish my desire, break free,
Could I but see you as a whore who takes without ever giving,
Then would my senses awaken to more wholesome loves,
But I am chained, your slave, your prisoner, filled with insatiable lust.
Are we wed? Till death do us part? With no escape?
Or can I break the bond, cry for divorce, demand annulment,
Before your poisonous fangs have torn my insides out?
Have I the strength of heart to reject your fatal attraction?
Temptress, like a siren, luring sailors to their death,
I willl close my eyes to your beauty, cover my ears to block your song.
Pray that fresh winds will fill my lungs and sails, and carry me
To greener pastures, where weeds are not allowed to grow.
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