I Like It, Complicate and Object of Your Affection
I LIKE IT
On the altar of your bed I lie
No sacrifice of purity
Just naked flesh that's flawed at best
A vessel yours to violate
These thin, pale wrists the bedsheets twist
Begging to be bound and tied
And as before, my lips implore
"Abuse me more--I like it."
Blood upon your lower lip,
Bruises on each pale hip,
Hands bound with leather ties,
Long black lashes over eyes,
Lipstick traces on your skin:
My darkest dreams of lust and sin.
The scent of sex is in the air.
I kiss a path on iv'ry fair.
A sudden moan, lost and confined.
I complicate you one more time.
OBJECT OF YOUR AFFECTION
My body's bruised, my lips are sore.
I've proved again that I'm your whore,
Your slut in leather, oh so coy;
Your dark, submissive, pretty boy.
Fuckable, suckable, dirty, and sweet.
The one you can love or the one you can beat.
You can mark me with your version of sin,
Or let me seduce you with bared pale skin.
I'm the sultry lover that slinks down your thighs,
The object of your affection that all logic defies.