The Little Death

Bid me not to reverence,
save I cry tears of ecstasy at your feet
from kisses that make me come
undone,
I much rather have purgatory;
writhing in darkness
gagged and bound,
yet, my soul sings
as a lark unfettered
I, your bond slave, eternally,
let time be still, spare not the dying
and feed from the honey hive
give me decadence as dew drops
moistening flesh cooled by heaven's eye,
let it be as tears from the clouds
as it ovetakes me,
the little death.