There are other ways to satisfy you,
love. I was made for two things: poetry

and wet carnal heat. I’ve met others who
recoiled the one time I asked if they’d be

my well-fucked muse. I only ask it once,
love. If scratches and bite marks are not what

you want then go in peace since the essence
of a muse is impulse; do what’s asked or not.

I’m not asking for a martyr, just pain
induced orgasmic pleasure; a fuck-toy

willing for something new. Cum and sonnets
are what I offer. That and seven cane

strokes on your curved ass. Be bestial joy
in black boots, inspiration and corsets.