Slave To You Poem by L C Vieira

Hands float past,
dripping invitations.
Who can wait for ecstasy?

Try to run…

enslaved.

Here is this slave to you.

Months a slave -
Do you even know it?
The day and night begins with you –
unknown, unknown, unknown.
Control it. You don't know it.
Still know it has to be.

Why must it be?
Hold the name. Forget the name.
Whose hands are yours?
Which pen writes of you?
Thoughts caught
each minute,
each day.
Caged.

Eyes search for any sign of anything
any seeming thing like you,
and lying naked
with some other's lips and hands -
it's still you.

Slave to you.

Months a slave -
Do you even know it?
The day and night begins with you –
not shown, unknown.
Control it. You don't know it.
Still know it has to be.

A thousand words may spill;
a thousand 'stupids' in reality,
but oh, if there 's just one from you -
just one -
whose tongue will swallow it?
Whose ears will want more?

Satisfied. Unsatisfied.
It never ends.
More. More!

If I have to be a slave to you,
to struggle with this fantasy,
or free without a thought of you,
What do I take?
Oh, of course, what's to take?

The ache's the same:
to be this part of you…
to be free of you.
the ache’s the same.


...Hush! Don't take!

Who is this slave to you?
Do you even know it?
The day and night begins with you –
and who can even show it, control it?
Know it.
Know it has to be.

(revised latest: August 2013, original 2000)