Night Master, thy marble face
In moonshine mirror is full of grace,
Snow-white perfection has no defect.
I’m starving with craving, yearning in my bed.
Your cold-steel-fondling squirming snakes,
Twisted around my wrists and breast,
In ardent breath’s the lust of death.
I feel you in, my silent guest.
Oh, please, get further; I’m your slave,
Please, make me twinge, release your rage,
Through thy brutal force I’ll taste your lust,
Burn me with fire up to dust!
28/12/08
Throe Master
© Copyright: Ада Ло, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108123002746
Свидетельство о публикации №108123002746
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