Your Work (a poem)

one day on the phone, this summer, during a brief conversation, my Mistress had confided to me that O/our D/s relationship had been nothing more than work, or a job to Her. Her jaded words ripped through me like an old, rusty saw and hurt me far more than any whip or curt could of. yet, instead of letting these feelings stew and fester, i decided to follow Her writer's example and set my wounded heart to pen and paper. this poem is the result of that introspection. remarkably, this sudden emotive pustule release was therapeutic and helped me to deal with my feelings of grief and loss.~sushichum

Your Work

By: pescado

so, it was only about work.

all about work You say?

the punching of a time clock

the clicking of a gun

putting in time until W/we were done.

hour upon hour

minute by minute

second by second

just, fucking work … nothing more?

but somewhere between the beatings and the marks

punching that damn time card with reddened purple marks

You became a real person to me.

Someone i could relate to, and Someone to see.

it wasn’t just all about work … don’t You see?

turn off emotion until he is black and blue

nothing more to see here until W/we are through.

scratches, scars and bruises … a Dominant’s delight

left all over me and brandished in the night.

but Your marks that were given all bloody and torn

the swelling, and the blackened eyes i see in early morn.

Your marks may fade, but the roots run deep

the fist marks disappear, but the bonding was complete.

so work, fucking work that is all You can say

nothing more than putting in time to fill the day.

was that all this was? a charade,  a farce?

a momentary indiscretion as you pummel me in the dark?

the heart rings true

no matter what it’s color.

darkened hearts, smash vanilla hearts to bits in bloody palor.

work … just fucking work

laid naked, beaten, and bleeding bare for the truth

for, what was just work to You …

was Your love, to me.

i mean … don’t You see?

Summer, July 1, 2014