Email Poem

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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
something that doesn’t speak out loud
at parties, but creeps across the fine 
dinner table,
through glances, faint touches,
laughs & intentional momentary stares &
changes in the tone of one’s voice,
when s/he makes eye contact,
letting one know that kink is 
involved, when it comes to what is in
store for the
evening---
just when the talons get dug in
is anybody’s guess,
but both parties agree that 
once the rest of em’ are preoccupied,
somewhere out in the back of the house,
somewhere in a secluded room
not used by the rest of the folk during
the early evening,
somewhere, where the moans of pain &
pleasure cannot be heard,
they walk
hand in hand.

spontaneity leads to spitballing,
spitballing leads to deeper conversation,
deeper conversation leads to comfort,
comfortability leads to trust,
trust leads to permission,
permission leads to vulnerability,
vulnerability leads to possibility,
possibility leads to awakening,
awakening leads to pleasure,
pleasure repeats & repeats & repeats into
ecstasy.

digging deep into human
urge, gripping tight with both hands,
hold palm straight, swinging down,
slamming & echoing the slap throughout the 
room, following again,
communicating with &
constantly checking one’s pain threshold,
with the reddening coming &
the streaks, the fingers being imprinted,
but still, more is wanted,
so the steady slap, the smack,
increases in rapidity,
in strength, in force,
with every motion planned, deliberate,
to bring pleasure through pain,
constantly communicating,
letting s/he who enjoys/endures
work at him/herself whilst the
room gets louder with moans,
wincing, cries of excitement &
cries of hurt, 
all the while
inside, s/he rises, 
rises, rises, rises,
further up the hill,
as the skin grows a deep red,
as the skin begins to bruise &
then finally,
the
spankgasm.
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