Mercy, mercy, mercy.
The pain empassions me and gets the blood,
(and other juices) flowing.
At your Masterful hand,
I am bettered, beaten, and battered.
But the pleasure always follows close behind.
Equal in anticipation and intensity.
You will never hear
Mercy, mercy, mercy,
pass these bruised lips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A little on the dark side but so subtly sexual and exciting! Nicely written.