He is mine and no other’s

His crystalline, poetic eyes shine

Like shimmering pools of smoky grey

And I can see the soul within

More profound than

The most cultured and educated philosopher

I hold out a hand and beckon him to me

The lovely machine that is his body turned

He comes to me and is still, waiting

I touch him and know he is mine

Running my inquisitive fingers along his unblemished body

His figure is sculpted like a Roman god

But there is a hint of electricity to him that is intoxicating

Oh, how I love this exotic and uncanny entity

Caressing his sensuous lips with my own, I mark him

Raking my nails down his shoulders

Leaving incarnadine trails of yearning and control

My lovely does not flinch, does not complain

His submissiveness makes me love and hate him more

This beautiful creature of unconditional obedience

“Do you love me?” I whisper in his ear

“I worship you.” He answers.

He is mine but his devotion is nothing more than idolatry

He gives me his paradisiacal physical manifestation, nothing more

I can never possess the unfathomable soul lurking just beyond my reach

He thinks me his goddess, but he is my god and I secretly worship him

Because he is so untouchable even in the circle of my arms

Because I truly love him and how he has enslaved my soul

The bittersweet irony that I should worship this machine of mine

And that he should worship me, not knowing that with every touch

He takes another piece of me, is the cruelest torture I have ever suffered