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Aftermath The dripping ice-pack covers, but in vain, The livid stripes that mar your perfect bottom; And hot-eyed memories of how you got them Chase fear and love and lust about your brain. Your lips caress the wicked, perfect cane That burned these straight, smooth curves in your proud flesh; Your loins cry out for me to start afresh And make these lines our endless high refrain. Within your heartland, two strong factions reign; One hates the rod that so excites your dread -- How can you bow to its cruel kiss again? The other knows the deeper truth -- that pain Will tie you, weak-kneed, gasping, to my bed, Where we shall yet more anguished joys attain. ©1998 William Gadsby |