Snowdrops

The book that is my heart is filled with tears;  
you turn it page by page; you may well find  
anecdotes and memories - each steers  
my thoughts to distant mindscapes that remind  
me of past walks in winter, given snow  
has covered countrysides again as white.  
snow blankets smother sound and make me slow,  
as I stumble along right out of sight...  
 
Away from country roads, there's privacy,  
where snowdrops flower in those sheltered spots:  
their heads are bowed almost submissively,  
as mine was once, my stomach tied in knots  
to hear his breathing and await his voice  
as he compared the flowers to his pet  
and ordered me amongst them - there's no choice  
when he was in this mood; nor a regret.  
 
He sometimes had me kneel on the dark earth  
and teased my white beret into a shape,  
equating to those flowers; suppressed mirth  
gave way to a small frown: I'd hesitate,  
aware of the chill earth, beneath my knees,  
both covered at that point, which, I suppose,  
was compensation for the fact I'd please  
him, as he wished, amidst untidy rows...  
 
The snowdrops, bowed on black earth, did not draw  
attention or concern, once he had freed  
his member for my mouth - and I restored  
a certain dignity, letting him feed  
his hard'ning inches; he lifted my shirt  
and squeezed my breasts, determined to enjoy  
the nipples' chilled hardness, as the dark dirt  
absorbed my limbs, with me, once more, his toy...  
    
His savage spreading of my derriere,  
in due course, mixed my mouth with cunt and arse;  
he took me quite relentlessly - I'd dare  
to be his faithful whore, whose taste would last  
upon his hardened cock, when I'd demean  
my taste buds with his spending; and the slops  
of his pleasures and my tearful, obscene  
recall: at being fucked near those snowdrops...