I don’t want it to pass; I want to wrap you up in it, a cord of need that thrums when touched. I should be able to see it in your eyes, an iris of desire; taste it on your skin.
Because upfront or behind, a hand around the throat or buried in hair is better than any leash.
I can be cruel, if you see cruelty in being kept at a precipice without knowing just far you have to fall. I can be cruel, if you see cruelty in crawling to me, eyes raised to meet my own, until you are close enough to kiss my palms.
I can be cruel.
But never without purpose.
(Scarlet Letters has been updated.)
Aaaah yes. It is not what we use to gain control; it is what we are, that matters.