He parts from her in a honey-gold bedroom
to see her outstretched body fall to bed.
She softens the pikes used over and over
to stab at his milky skin.
Sitting on noir cloth flecked with bright silver,
he traces the scars and burns on his skin.
A scabulous grin cuts across his face,
bearing the pleasure of being marked as her own.
For hours of hours his milk-skin radiates
the pride of being punctured.
He rises and glides to the next honeyed room
where her jags are still rounded and dark.
She lifts the brim of his hat and
flicks a needle to his eye.
He accepts the sample of what’s to come,
eager to feel her harsher stings.
The classic pair of S&M;
that is to say, of Sun and Moon.