Beat Heart Faster

I want to rub my wrists tomorrow
and feel a little of this soreness
sing back being
nothing to you,

your toy on a table,
spreadeagled; unable
to do anything but
beat heart faster
under that hungry, mean way
you stare at me -
like at meat
that unswallowed, would be heresy,
starvation done unbearably -
only that glare on me,
honey-skin prone.

I can satiate you
from my chains;
I cannot move
or cover myself, so
I can show you what "owned" looks like -
hazel and wide
from iris to white;
something that begs,
is subject to delight
however your whim
makes it topple my mind:

brought me shaking, with wrists red
and aching, to edge;
heavy, ruddy-faced, wet,
your name in my head
and nothing; I beg

And you drag, drag the night
out, just watching me writhe.