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