Etched

Visually devouring my skin with your smile,
feigned indifference, you know that you will have me.
That I will bend to your every touch;
eventually.
You’ve made no effort to veil your intentions,
an invitation to your place, I know your kind…
Show me your works of art, I am uneasily impressed
by your confidence, you are playing with me,
the cat, who would make me your canary.

Your presumption is to get right under my skin,
there’s no need for guile, I am wise to your fraternity,
I’ve done this before, just not with you;
believe me.
I’ve felt the sweet sting, your instrument of torture,
though it was cradled in another’s grip.
Trace my naked flesh, I am exposed completely,
and lusting for your surfeit cruelty.

I can barely move, your arms are deceptively strong.
My lungs ask my mind to cry out, you’re hurting me,
though I know you would let me rest if I asked you;
but nicely.
I’ll take it like a man, there are others watching us,
eager to have my place at your skillful hands,
salivating at what you’re doing to my body,
awaiting their own turns impatiently.

Now you’re spent, and I admit to myself so am I,
you sit back, stretch your arms up and exhale heavily
admiring the stains you left on my once unblemished skin;
perfectly
I know that all I am to you is your obedient canvas,
You did it to me exactly how I wanted you to
and I’ll come back again, and again, eagerly
until decided that you’ve finished with me…

Fucking tattoo artists…