It's the helplessness
as much as it's the pain.
It's as much about the uselessness of the struggle
as it is about being restrained,
and it's tricky to explain this
in a culture like our own
where sex is page three of some papers
and dirty postcard jokes,
but the place where these words come from,
and the feeling I have of escape
that I get when someone's trapped me:
well, they come from the same place,
because it isn't just getting my rocks off,
or what's below my waist.
It's the closest I come to the sacred:
it's magic. Divinity. Grace.
I saw 'Leather Donax' in the list of seashells given as the prompt for day 19 and I thought 'yeah, another BDSM poem, why not?'