Kill the Messenger

A cramped window

allows just enough sunlight

to feed temptation,

to read again.

Eyes fall on the latest letter

a struggle at this hour

oh to only see the girl,

standing perfectly still.

There in her late night gown or dress

it does not matter,

just as long as she has come.

I bring her mouth close to mine

we share the space,

she begs to be even closer

with the wish granted

without ever using the words

her eyes relay the hour.

Without too much effort

the Messenger lays strewn about

her heavy gaze settles

she doesn’t want to hear the words.

Dangerous touching against the edges.

We dance like this,

going around and around for centuries.

From first time fists

to heavy palming

we swim to keep at the surface.

Her purpose has turned

from behind, she slightly reaches

on her perfectly manicured toes.

Barely touching the ground now

she brings her hungry kiss

closer to Mine, but before we meet

I settled her in her favorite position.

Properly balanced of course

her divine submission

most find hard to comprehend

the electrical charge.

Her mood switches and turns,

bracing for the leathered palm.

The sound alone changed her direction

she wanted more of that hand.

A wave washed down her

stripped and wanting more.

The pleasure pain principle

left a sensitive mark

she squeezed tightly.

The cost of loving this way

meant everything had to be thought out.

From the start of all this

meant there were lessons to learn

she boldly thought she understood

being the perfect student

always eager to play the part.

She was introduced to her thorn,

her fucking unmistakable thorn.

She was free to start living this life,

just as long as she stood perfectly still

being pretty underneath the skin

had always been a gift of hers.

Today we killed the Messenger

there is no more need

for her delivered words.

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