ballerina

pioned, posed
tangled in the river
between
your cleft
and the skill of my craft

I see you, there.

Standing, arms over your head, rope firmly wound about each wrist.

Carving curves with a firm grip in your hair, drawing your eyes close to mine and your ass out and up so I can drink all of you in.

It is nothing new to hold you on the edge between pleasure and pain, but I find newfound joy in watching your eyes first widen and then roll up as my fingers find your nipples, making you dance on your toes against the electric current between my hand and the clenching need between your thighs.

You are never so beautiful as when you are exposed and mine.