fuck your vanilla icecream

You look at me like I’m a freak    
for my voyeuristic tendencies    
take out the kink and the images    
on the screen just look like normal porn    
   
But that’s not what we’re seeing    
not what you’re seeing    
   
I like the way she takes the air    
from his lungs    
leaves bruises as penance    
for his pleasure    
body convulsing    
in death-like ecstasy    
   
You can’t see the beauty in pain    
or how I want to connect    
my soul to that agony    
that leaves me wet    
and waiting    
untouched by your hands    
   
In your eyes    
this bondage is dehumanising    
and I can’t make you understand    
that this is the point    
the degradation of our humanity    
for the raw pleasure    
of something so violently primal    
it defies our rationale    
to avoid pain    
for vanilla excrements    
on the bedsheets    
   
I am untapped deviance    
because you’re so unwilling    
to see the other side    
of the things that turn us on    
   
I want bruises, blood dripping    
down my skin from the assault    
of your manicured nails    
letting me know I’m alive    
   
If you bring the blood    
I’ll bring the knives    
and let you turn me into    
holy living art…    
   
But your bite    
is just a dream    
when I’ve settled for security    
over the adventure of unexplored    
psycho-sexual depths    
   
You look at me like I’m a freak    
turn off the screen    
and lead me to bed    
where you kiss me with the    
platonacy of someone    
who has apparently    
never felt the ruthlessness    
of lust raging through their veins    
as though you can sooth    
the screaming of my soul    
with feather soft kisses    
and pretty words    
   
When we fuck    
I’m somewhere else    
with bruises on my ass    
and teeth marks on my skin    
waiting for your finger tips    
to take hold around my neck    
and drive me to ecstasy    
   
© Indie Adams 2015