Some call me a lucky wench
as I lie here on this bench,
waiting for the first soft touch
of the hands I love so much.
From soft to hard, slow to swift,
I can sense that subtle shift;
Yes, he knows my every need.
This I know, by such I’m freed
From the hurt that I’ve endured;
I can rest in love assured,
know that I can be myself,
not hide away on a shelf,
where no one can ever see me smile,
In that slow, ever sweet style,
that shows that I am at peace,
having felt happy release,
from the stress that I once knew,
from those things that made me blue.
Now I turn my face to you
as the lights begin to dim;
all your equipment brought out;
Why I’m here, I have no doubt.
The feather touch of his hand
takes me to the promised land.
There is no hurt or sorrow there,
no hate, fury or despair.
How I love it when I’m kissed,
that sweet feeling that I’ve missed,
that turned me all upside down,
sent me spinning round and round,
made me feel I’d reached the sky.
You let me know that I can fly,
up to the stars high above,
never lose your tender love.
So now I must say,
There are things that I must do
to ensure new heights of bliss
with every successive kiss.
So, until we meet again,
I will be bound to you,
for the first I call you my Master,
I call you my lover
and I even call you my friend.
Wednesday, 17 September 2014
Code: 1409171988787© 2014 Safe Creative
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