wreck the Creation

is that a desperate cry i hear,
that sparks my hunger, coming
from the mouth of the one
who looks at me
unable to move
even one digit of her body

she looks trapped, yet
i know better
those eyes look at me free
of everything in her mind
the more she pleads with me
the more i hear her muffled moans
the more of her honest
resignation
she reveals

she knows nothing of her release
only moments, slight shifts,
to relieve the pain on one joint
only to transfer it to another

is this discomfort to her?
no sign of torture tattoos her face,
for, instead, she dangles
by the very desire her entire body
exudes

look at me dear, look at me once more
and with those eyes, speak your need,
let the exasperation of your torment
racking your body to the edge of
disturbing ecstasy
fill your cries

feel the sharp timbre of pain strike
against your tightened flesh, migrate to that
pain, embrace it
welcome it amongst its kin

oh, the more you moan,
the more i moan
such beauty suffers my eyes to view,
does God intend us to use these
bodies this way?
Does He know that His creations
provide so much joy through flagellation?
He must know, the Creator must
be aware of the measures
we will take to pound these vessels,
to toy with Him, to tell Him
we will master this parcel
I will take away His power for a
moment and mold
the Universe
to
My liking.

Such powerful forces need this
liberation
they need to serve and to be served
by the same confinement

the isolation of body from soul

i captured her body
allowing her soul to roam and soar