I weep.
I know not why.
Behind my mask, taking
it strongly,
I weep
I weep
I weep for
lost things
I weep for
joy
I weep for
closeness, Spine-blending
intimacy,
with the one
I call
Sir
tonight,
as we are one,
a machine,
built
to blur the lines
between
pleasure
and
pain,
and I weep.
In the morning
I am
striped
spotted
marked:
still His,
and I take Pride
in my marks,
my
tears,
though I still know
not
why --
and I refuse clothing,
spending the day
naked,
stripped,
like a
slave,
owned,
but when
I must
leave
our home,
I dress in black
leather,
like a Master,
and walk with
my head
held high,
proud,
like a Master.
--SSM, 5/12/02