The Hunger Of Time

His tender wonder softly
surely grasps the
urging curve of her thrust

and in the tremble of
reach, her whisper
of promise breaths into
him the vertigo of forever,

and from the high beyond
blue and envy the universe unwinds
next to the edge of green
her eyes grew,

and the warmth of her open
mouth in billows soft and
bright captures and swallows
morsels of him,

and in the silver of the
night her throat warbles
and in the ripples of the moment
release
and she devours the loneliness
and solitude that flesh
intimately knows

and they, swirled in limbs
drift till the hunger of time
has its fill.

With You Gone

                                                                oisin and niamh


                                            

With you gone
the cavity in me
throbs an emptiness
that swallows my heart
and I stumble over the
edges of trivial duties.
the tendrils
and gravity of my routine
weaken then snap.
and I begin to notice
the gaps, and blanks
between moments
that drew me in .





IT starts with the long
silences between words,
like trolls lurking under
the bridge
threatening to devour me
bones and all
I hesitate to begine,
trembling with despair
with out your voice
to surround, and hold me
in the motion of my day
and deliver me unscathed


there is an absence in the
my world,
that leaves a vacuum
around me, a loosening of gravity,
setting me adrift,
between my mornings and
nights.
until


between cereal and coffee
im tugged unwilling into
the vastness between planets.
lost to the pull and gasp
of gravity,
beyond the redemption of
earth,
with out your arms
and mouth to tether me
to your orbit
and I drift in the chill,
silent darkness.
till the mundane reels me
in and
I finish my cooling coffee,
and start my day,
until


the realization of your
absents severs the
tenuous fleshy threads,
that bind me to my
life,
and I fall from cleaning
dishes,
into the cloying film of
black water,
removed from the bustle
and buzz, of driving and
trafic, from
commuting and arriving,
treading water, distant,
and removed, bobbing
in the thick ooze, that
grasps and pulls, threaditeing
to hold me under,
and I beyond the reach
of rescue, watching the buzz and scamper
of daily life on the distant shore,
with out your eyes and hands
to moor me to the safety
of your harbor.
then arrival reaches in,
and im at my desk,
leafing throw work.
until


the blanks in my life,
snare me,
and I flout untethered ,
unraveled
in the void that your
absence has bloomed in
my everyday and
I become lost between living room
and bedroom,
lost between sheets and
sleep.
with you gone, I suffer the
vertigo, of a thousand years
of isolation
in the world, I stumble
and sway,
and fill with nausea over
the heaving desert, of mundane
callings and promises


with you gone
I become lost,
in the gap of
my days,
and long for
your return
to bind together my
fragmented and tattered
remnants
and hold me secure in
your moment and
purpose.

For You

 for you
I would draw the blue
blue air
through vision and sight
and in the eye spin it to
fabric, and then back again
to light and shadow

for you,
I will take the fragile night
crisp and lonely wrap it
like a shall around your
marble shoulders,
and then in the heat of
your cauldron melt it in
to your body

for you
I will capture the glowing
waves of lava
and pack it’s fire and rage
into a drop of light to roll
on your tongue cool and
thrilling, then dissolve it
to wine, for your quenching,

for you
I will speak the secret words
and chant the ancient
calling and aline all
the elements, and from the cup
of my hands spill them
into your heart, bring them
to one, till the pulse and glow
throbs through you, and brings
you to the beginning and end
at once, so you will be
all and one for me.

The Name of Thee

when I before the

breaking of skin, whisper

in my voice sing savage

the names of trees and thee

when the silents wrapped

in the pause

between all words

I myself waited hung

suspended like a light

in the mist of pooling

yellow.

but the skin then

was smooth and new

and I wonted the world to

rub rough and the weather

to mark it , and give me history.

when the flesh broke

and the world gushed

in and though the silents

reseeded, the lyrics in my

ears took voice and hummed

the names the world wore, and thee

I mumbled along eventually

capturing and holding what

the world made whole

and transparent on my

lips and tongue,

the world danced to

the tune stepping through

the seasons and the spinning of

the sun,

all the names came tumbling

stepping along the flood

of light when the flesh

broke the song, and in me,  gave

name to thee.

The Darkening Tempest of You.

you in the blue of

my intimate darkness

plumbed the depth

of my passion.

your eyes leaked into the

muffled sheets

mazed between grunts,

and pain and rapture.

your body spilled its

ocean over me and

into my frenzy.

I spooled you out

unraveled flesh and blood

peeled away sinew to

fluted bone then erased

that to your appetite.

you breathed in the

crackle of my moist

heaving gasps

between the raking of

my need along the expanse

of you , spread out before

me,

a deep moist wilderness

raw with wind

and sea and tide.

I plunged blind in the

turbulence of

myself, then into the darkening

tempest of you.

your tides flowed me

along the curves and winds,

of your gasping body.

the dark broke, powdered

under the pounding of

waves, under the swallowing

hands and claws that

I have become.

you continued to storm

a squall contained by bone

and will,

and yet,

you spilled the sea in your need,

as you unravel and

your waves undulate crashing

against the rocks and cliffs

of the flesh that contains

you.

then in my starvation, the gale

that pulled the two of us

into the typhoon of

our encounter, wanes.

the brine waves that you are

leaks itself out.

then drained of

the fury, diminishes.

waves and sea, and

breath returns,

in the end the darkness

passed, leaving the purged

eruptions laying damp upon

a cleansed sea..

Objectification

Over the past several weeks I have been following a discussion by a number of blogger on the topic of objectification.

I know I run the risk of covering ground that has previously been discussed to death, but I do feel the need to have my say, from my particular point of view.

First off I must be clear that I was in a very long-term D/s relationship and had a submissive, but that is no longer the case, so what I have to say is predicated on that relationship and, on my knowledge of the BDSM community both online and live,   formal seminars and hands-on workshops, together with extensive reading, and research.

I will attempt to encapsulate the main points of both schools of thought.

The arguments that I have been following are thus:

The first one is of the willing embracing of one’s inner object or role.  Once the inner object is embraced, there is a releasing of their personality to acquire a new one, usually one that is an object, a cunt, a sex object, or as one of the proponents of this argument suggest, their “inner dolly.”

The participants of this kink  claim they feel liberated and freed when they don this persona, but in blogs I have read expounding the virtues of this kink, it seems the writers wish to be in this persona for an extended period of time and as often as possible.

The other school of thought that engaged in this debate riled against objectification of the individual, asserting that it was detrimental to the individual psyche and destructive. They argue that to objectify a person is demeaning, dehumanizing, and fundamentally wrong.

As you strip the person of power, and identity, the impact of this can be devastating to the person’s emotional and psychological well being.

Both schools of thought are right and wrong.

Among the various forms of objectification, are those people whose kink is to be an inanimate object (i.e., tables or lamps or a foot stool).

This form of objectification is a form of meditation for those people, the willing loss of self, a quieting of the mind, very similar to people who find flogging meditative, or find bondage meditative; however, like any type of meditation, it is for a specific duration of time.

Now as for the objectification of turning a person into a object (i.e., body parts or unthinking dolls, a cunt, or fuck hole), this type of fetish is arousing and often involves the eroticization of a body part, heightening the enjoyment.  It does, however only tap into a facet of that person!!

The first form of objectification - that of the willing loss of self can be liberating, freeing, and a means to embrace one’s quiet core, as in meditation. but it is only within the limited context of the scene, and, like meditation, has a beginning middle and end.

If one attempts to extend this form of objectification beyond the preset parameters of the scene, then for both participants in the  D/s relationship, it can be dangerous. For the person who strives to always remain the object is doomed to fail, and in the process to wreck damage upon the D./s relationship. One cannot be a object all the time; no matter how hard one strives, one will always remain more than an object.  For the submissive there is only failure after failure in their attempt to remain the object that their Dom wishes them to be.

For the Dominant, there is disappointment after disappointment because they are asking the impossible. Eventually the strain will seriously impact the relationship, if not end it.

The other interpretation of objectification is self-evident; people are more than just body parts, more than just a certain role.  Whether the Dominant wants to admit it or not, a submissive is more than just a body part or an action or a thought. A submissive is more than a submissive, they are people with various roles and skills and abilities.

To see anyone as one-dimensional, as an object or as a certain role ONLY is wrong and misleading. To do so is to deny the realities of the world you live in.

To continually do so the dominant is doomed to disappointment, and to persist after disappointment and evidence that implies otherwise, the dominant is either learning disabled or just an idiot, who refuses to deal with reality.

To eroticize a body part or a role or a facet of the submissive’s  personality is wonderful and can heighten the mutual experience , but  that eroticized  facet already exists within the personality. and there has to be mutual synergy developed between the Dominant and submissive. The relationship must be mutually gratifying, or else the relationship is doomed to end, if one of the parties’ needs and desires are not being met.

That eroticized aspect of the personality is only an aspect, a facet of an integrated personality.  To bring it out and have it as a focus is fine, but you have to realize that it is only a facet of a whole, and as such will be reintegrated into the whole when the play is over.

Just like a Dom who taps into his stern ‘yes sir’ side, he can only maintain this persona for the duration of the scene. It would be impossible for him or her to continue this persona into and throughout his life.   One cannot expect the people with whom he or she works to call them sir or master, nor can he or she expect the gas attendant to kneel and address them according to strict protocol!

Reality bites into the persona and eventually crumbles it.

We are only capable of suppressing our personalities for a limited time; the demands of reality, time and space and the flow of experiences eventually solicits from us other actions, other aspects of our multi-faceted personalities. and it is through this interplay with experience that we become complex multifaceted individuals, rather than one dimensional cartoon characters.

For the person who wants to be the doll, or a fuck hole, it is freeing because for a brief moment, there is the liberation from cares, worries, history, thinking, decision making, freedom from all of that; the freedom for a few moments to transcend their reality, a freedom to escape into the placid center of themselves. As a form of meditation it can be liberating, because all the stresses of that person’s life are submerged and for a brief moment the individual is free from the rest of themselves. The interval, however, is of short duration, for that scene, that moment; not indefinitely, which form of objectification is only “common” on the Internet!

In reality there are just far too many demands on a person to remain “in character”, or to be just an object.  The pressures of dealing with reality will soon force the person out of their one dimensional persona.

No matter how hard they try, reality will force them out of that role. It is impossible to interact with all you come in contact with as say just a doll, the pressure to function in a multidimensional world will force the one dimensional character to assume other facets of their real self.  So the sexual objectification can only be temporary, and specific to a scene. When one attempts to carry it further, it will soon collapse, as it does in the world, that is why stereotypes and objectification eventually breaks down.

Now the reason all the Dominants just love this type of objectification, is that it is easy, there is a minimum of work involve, there is no mastering involved; the relationship is only one dimensional  shallow and empty of any meaningful interaction..

When you have stripped a person into an object (i.e. a doll), you don't have to take the person into consideration, you don’t have to fear that they will evaluate or make judgments and they won’t think so they won’t question . they won’t challenge, and they won’t defy the Dominant’s power.  There is a surrender that, for the Dominant, is nice and safe.

If a Dominant is uncertain of his powers or abilities an objectified doll is safe to deal with.

The Dominant only has to relate on one level , there is no thinking or evaluating or assessing to be done, the interaction is flat and one dimensional. so there is nothing.  It is safe and comfortable, requires no creativity or insight, only compliance.  It also lacks skill, or imagination, or true power to interact in a shallow one-dimensional relationship on a long-term basis.

To reiterate, this form of relationship can only be successful in a scene. In fact in a scene, it can be very powerful and exceedingly erotic and fulfilling, but like all scenes they must and do come to an end, to do otherwise, to attempt to turn it into a 24/7 relationship is to doomed it to failure.   Too many factors would interfere with the interaction and the illusion would crumble very quickly, when exposed to the light of day.

Although I know a lot of those in Cyber Land dream of such things, it cannot be done!! The demands of the world will erode it to oblivion in a short time..

The Cruelest Stroke

I stand on the
edge of the abyss
and reached into its
darkness, searching
for your submission.

I know that you have fallen
you have tumbled into
the void and into
the prison of your flesh

you have locked away
your bondage, you have
imprisoned your desire.

the scars were too much
to bare, the hurt was
overwhelming,
and from my hand
the cruelest blow of all,
the wound that burnt you to the core
that turned your submission
to ash was no blow at all

the hurt that drove you
from the world, that
collapsed your spirit
was no hurt at all.

now I stand on the edge
of the abyss and the
darkness drinks from
my eyes.

I watched as you collapsed
to your knees,
my heart sank into the pit,

and the cruelest stroke
was no stroke at all

and now that you are hidden
now that the darkness
has swaddled you,
I step to the edge of the abyss
and prepare to leap.

now that you’re in your
shell, removed from the
loving ache, the darkness
whispers to your wounds.

but I stand on
the edgy of the abyss
and prepare to leap

the darkness has
swallowed you
the darkness has eaten
every morsel

and in my despair
I reach into the abyss
beyond hope I travel
beyond what I am

you have hidden your
submission, camouflaged as pride
brutally stuffed it
into the dark
you have strangled your
desire with a twisted ligature
of despair
you have starved your need
you have suppressed
your appetite,
and throttled
who you are.

you have climbed into your
fortress of flesh
you have leapt into
your private abyss

and I , I in despair
stand on the brink
and try to reach
into your abyss
I stand on the brink
and slowly sink into
my own darkness
into the grief
of the abyss

and realise that
and the cruelest stroke
was no stroke at all.