dear doms of the world

Dear dom’s

 

 

 

I want to make something clear before I begin this letter, no, two things, the first is that you should feel free to write me back. I know you are probably not going to want to spend your time doing that, but a conversation would be great. You can leave your reply in the comments, or just link to it, second, as much as I do end most of my letters with “submissively yours” (this isn’t going to be an exception) I’m not your sub right-now (at least not yet) ,

How are you doing? Are you in a stable relationship? Are you enjoying the weather, its been very chaotic here. It seems like the clouds are hanging too low for spring, really. Like a wet dogs jowl’s hanging over my little burg. I like the rain, is soft and clear, like an often recited quip, fog reminds me of an embrace from the sky.  I spend my time in my own ways, mostly alone, walking. I’m often left wondering why I’m out and about so much. No real point to it, it’s just what I do I guess. If you’re wondering why I addressed this note to the power half of the phrase “power play”, and really I am wondering that a bit myself. I’ll answer, it’s because I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while, and as much as I chase, I cant seem to get closer.

Perhaps I should define who I’m talking to right now, by Dom I don’t mean some over-sexed leather jockey, or even any thing that involves sex. Power play is the core of the little world we have as humans, and those people who know how to exude power, and who control others for the joy of having control. That’s what I’d define a Dom as. I pass by you constantly, unaware of most of you, as you me, so I’m sending my call into the dark, Hoping for answering shout.

 

 

In submission yours

L.s

waiting

waiting is like a  bad taste in your mouth

waiting is like a cold wind on a cold day against a cold sweat

waiting is like a cherry pit stuck in your throat

waiting is like a hole in your hand that no one will agree exists

waiting is like a shirt with the word thistle written on the front glimpsed for a half second

waiting is like waking up from a dream you cant remember but wished you cold

waiting is like an unheard final farewell

 

 

seven words for you

I cant say that I love you

I wish I could feel for you

I wish I could feel WITH you

I want to be within your muse

you are radiant in your gentle strength

I will never stop hoping for you

You will never have to say sorry

you’ll never have to tell me twice

I wont ever stop watching your mood

If I find your name, it’s free

if you ever find mine keep it

 

Untitled ode to a wished lover

broken glass  in my tea

I don’t know whats become of me

I have no reason to be lonely

 

sometimes I find I cannot say

how I got to be this way

so fragile in my hope

so full of glass

I join the sky as I mope

think for my dreams: alas

like silk scrubbed with sour soap

waiting for these times to pass

groping in the darkness

and I know I’m failing

and wishing I was heartless

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

knives

Flight is a thing I’ve never dreamed

Far too futile it’s ever seemed,

The loft of heaven lifts me not

Joys of the land I’ve not forgot

I stand on floors and sandy shores

Staring out to things untoward

The knives will fill my dreams

 

Kinesthetic memories wake as I walk

I judge the distance to a heart,

Or consider murderous trains of thought

And even if I cease to talk

Or my finger gives a sudden start

I try to forget what I’ve fought

lithani (ballance)

The key difference that makes civility

Is in the abstinence, unfollowed urge

withholding excess, no more or less

I have what I could ever need

no lack of what is needed

imbalance is not of

in the lithani

 

specters path

Black hooded, specters path
Fast approaching psychopath
Wielding entropic wrath

Men are born and blades are falling

Reap and sow,
Die and grow
All soon struck low

Men are born and blades are falling
Skin is torn and babes are crawling

Deadly now a falling scythe
Legends flow into myth
Even now the victims writhe

Men are born and blades are falling
Skin is torn and babes are crawling
Cloth is worn and boys are brawling

Bodies covered in soft lace
Finally finished race
Slain by a foe they cannot face

Men are born and blades are falling
Skin is torn and babes are crawling
Cloth is worn and boys are brawling
Body’s shorn, death so galling

men ever on do try
never once reason why
once born destined to die

Men are born and blades are falling
Skin is torn and babes are crawling
Cloth is worn and boys are brawling
Body’s shorn, death so galling
Now they mourn, widows bawling

 

 

Lethani

let me now

enter the way

that is for my good

harried by no evil

at peace for my path is set

now I walk through the long night

In lethani