Les Sonnetts Luxurieux
Is this her ultimate
act of sadomasochism –
his rest of days of pain?
Is his reply allowed
before her face-down lies –
taking it from behind
which are – for others – kinks
& well-hidden discomforts?
She pleads her case of cruelty
when such cruelty was her cut
& thrust by strangers’ cocks –
no matter what it cost
Claim innocence in such art
of milking men of all shapes
She craves to smell of roses
She wears her crown of thorns
which she pulls down – tighter –
enough to make a hundred blooms
Her sweetly-bled lacerations
are red jewels adorning her skin –
also worn within as rough scabs –
to peel off by her recall’s pull
That delicacy of altered memories
is her art to serve & savour