Red ropes run like rose vines,
weaving in tight formations,
through the trellis of the bed where
you lie bound.
Wrists and ankles fastened,
spread and writhing
in the ecstacy of that desire
to surrender all.

Black ropes snake over your skin,
like trails of ink
that write the story
of your submission.
Your bound breasts speak volumes;
and cry out
for my word-stained lips upon
their tender buds.

No ropes restrict your intimate heat;
none are needed there.
You have in loving bondage freely
given your body up -
to be bound upon the alter
of my bed -
and opened the gates of yourself
to my invasion.

There is one more bond to our union;
the most important one
in the carnal pact that seals
our Gordian knot:
The bond of obedience that commands
my enslaved worship
of your yielding, yearning whole, as you lie
tied and triumphant.

© Era°