My beloved Sir Poet has a way with words. He knows just what to say - just what picture to paint - to quiet the voices that clamor in my head.
Every night He uses those words to bid me sweet dreams, to remind me I am His, to take me to that place where I am wrapped safely in His arms, or my leash is held by His hand as I sleep, or I am tied to his bed and curled upon a cushion at His feet. He binds me, always with words... words of rope, of chain, of leather.
On the best nights, His words bind my wrists behind my back, my arms to each other at my elbows, my ankles, and legs in crimson rope, strong and soft. All the while He whispers to me. His words become the boundaries, the limits that settle over me like a cloak.
After the rope, His words bind a length of violet silk around my eyes, as I close them tightly, focusing on the last image before they shut: His eyes - His determined yet gentle gaze. His words ask whether I have anything left to say before He adds another length of ink black silk that slides in between my lips. I whisper softly that I love Him, and express my gratitude for His words; then I am forced to be silent. To listen to His movements, to anticipate His touch.
Soon His breath grazes my neck, and my ear. His words whisper, and sometimes, He asks me whether I'm ready before He slips the noise-cancelling headphones over my head. The last words I hear are His profession of love, and His bid of goodnight and sweet dreams. He calls me His pet, and then silence.
I feel everything.
The boundary of the ropes, the silk, the weight of silence upon my body. My head echoes with His words, and I feel loved, safe, protected, wanted.
I wait.
I know He will reach for me. He will guide me into His arms, and wrap Himself around me to sleep in solitude, in silence and safety. I dream of being wrapped 'round in his protective wings.
I rest within His words.
image reblogged from
http://augustserendipity.tumblr.com/
