You still don’t know

how dark I go

in the dead of night

when the mood is right

and the pulses race

before that embrace.

You’ve not seen yet

how black I get

when I allow a man

to bind my hands

and set me free

as I long to be.

You haven’t seen

my inbetween

beneath the light

of words I write

which are but the tip

of what makes me tick.
~j~

Secret:

I sometimes
wish that
I were
a church yard
statue
because
they don’t
seem to mind 
getting crapped on
all day long.

~j