Playing With Fire: A Daddy Dom Ramble


I’ve had a few drafts of what I want to say. I can’t figure out how to be precise with my words here. So expect some free form stream of consciousness.
I watched this show where a teenage girl was hovering her hand over an open flame, admittedly been through a lot, not to mention being a teenager in the first place. And my mind jumped to so many different tangents with the image. Experimenting with pain, sexual

Identity. Guidance. 
It kicked off this whole train of thought that is current doing the round. Which led me to writing it down here. 
I’m a Daddy. This much is true, whether it’s sexual or instinctive. Or darker. 

And I’m of two minds – one half trying to comfort this teenage girl while the other half helping her to experiment. Because experimentation, under watch, can be rewarding. So maybe my hand on hers, feeling the slight burn. No going back. Showing her that there is this whole side of things that you can practice as a form of therapy, if controlled in a healthy environment. 
And I’m not too sure why. 

I often wrestle with my animalistic impulses. I’ll shy away from the absurd because a handful of people understand and the rest don’t. 
I think the reason why this show has sparked feeling with me is partly because I was that experimental teen, dealing with pain – unhealthily at first. So when I see a teenager, male or female, struggling, I become that surrogate Daddy. Whether they like it or not. Because I can’t help it. And because my heart is too deep, or so they tell me. 
When I was first fully exploring my Dominant side, I met a teenage girl through Whisper going through a really rough time. I was 26 at the time. And she was flirtatious and sent nudes randomly. And I understood why. Or partly understood. 

I didn’t act. I didn’t want to. She was certainly attractive. Legal, if you’re mind is going there. But I could feel she was trying to justify something, her worth, herself, anything. And so I talked to her, told her politely as I could that the nude photo wasn’t necessary. 
And I don’t know why or how I came to it, but I saw her as a little sister. And whenever she texted me to vent, I would listen. Whenever she called, I would listen. 
And eventually, she stopped calling. We stopped talking, I didn’t bother her. I get it into my head I’m annoying – and a part of me felt guilty about the fact that I was even talking to her, because age. 
And age is weird. When my kitten was 16-17, I was 21. And I wouldn’t dream of dating her then….but now, it’s okay. Our minds are weird. Human, I guess. 
So when I see a teen or hear of a teen struggling, I see myself. I’m instantly transported to my days of discovery. And I guess that sparks on a transformation into a Daddy.
And I’m writing this all out because I feel like it needs to be said. I feel like there’s this sort of creep factor or age barrier that comes with the Daddy Dominant that misconstrues meaning. And I feel, a lot of the time, there’s a younger audience to my blog that needs to talk about something to a random who doesn’t know their friends or family. Who needs to hear they’re okay to experiment. 
Just like sometimes I need someone to tell me: it’s okay to feel like this. It’s an instinctual thing. You’re not a fucking creep. Even though, through writing this, I kinda feel like I am, you know?
So: the image of this girl testing the flame. It made me think of myself, it made me want to guide her, tell her things are okay. It made me want to walk the path with he while she opens the doors to discovery and sexual identity. 
This may be an 18+ blog, with mature themes, but I’d never turn anyone under 18 away. Because that person was once me. 

Valhalla, Part 3: The First Night In Asgard

Need to catch up? Here’s Chapter One and Two!

CHAPTER THREE

 

THE FIRST NIGHT IN ASGARD

 

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The sight of the orgy made Ryan forget his footing.
He tripped over his feet.
To his surprise, Eira caught him lightning-fast by the elbow, looking at him with those same curious eyes that fell upon him when he refused her body.
The two regarded one another a moment, before a shriek coming from the distance tore Ryan back towards the bonfire.
The towering inferno lit up the clearing around it, painting the people celebrating – celebrating what, Ryan thought, around it.
People whooped and hollered, moaned and groaned, a mix of noises all contorting together around the fire.
Ryan had never seen anything like it in his entire life.
He’d never been to a strip club, wasn’t interested in a dance or watching, it felt impersonal.
And orgies wasn’t something he’d ever thought about joining in on, he was more a one-on-one interaction.
As if reading his mind, Eira piped up.
She was walking in front of him, raising her voice so he could hear from behind her.
“As I mentioned earlier, the Valkyries, every so often, like to hold a celebration for the new souls.”
Something to Ryan’s right caught his eye and he looked to see a raven-haired woman sitting on the ground nude, with her back against a plank of wood and her legs raised above her head, held in place by rope tied back to the plank itself.
Upon closer inspection, Ryan saw the raven haired beauty was wearing a necklace featuring what appeared to silver decorated in the shape of wings.

 

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Her body was decorated in tribal tattoos, black flames curled up her arms and across her stomach.
Between her legs was another woman, her legs stretched out on the ground beneath her, her head buried into the raven woman’s crotch.
Eira saw Ryan had stopped and walked back to see what he was looking at.
“Oh. Would you like to watch?” She asked him, matter-of-factly. Not a hint of a tone in her voice suggested she was excited or jealous the women had Ryan’s eye. To Eira, it was another day.
“Perhaps join?”
Ryan instinctively covered his crotch.
“No” came out of him, and the raven-haired woman looked over at him.
He felt his cheeks burning, his stomach sinking. What on earth is this place, he wondered.
“Very well.”
Eira continued onwards and Ryan followed, passing a man engaging a woman in doggy-style to his right, his groans echoing out amongst the crowd.
A woman passed by him to his right, naked and wearing an ornament on her head that appeared to be made out of wood. It was ablaze, trailing smoke into the night sky.
The woman, her body painted in tribal tattoos, danced around the fire, holding her arms high in the air.
How many people were here, wondered Ryan.
He began to count, dotting the people with a wave of his finger in the air.
He gave up when he counted fourteen.

“Eira?” He asked when they came to a stop at an empty spot by the bonfire.
“Mm?”
“What….what…”
“I told you. Valkyrie’s are slaves. We, according to the All-Father, live to serve as slaves.”
“Is that just sexually?”
Ryan could feel the heat of the bonfire on his face, could smell that smoky wood-burning smell that he could associate with his youth, hanging around the bonfire with his mates and drinking.
The thought hit him hard. Mates.
He had lost touch with his mates from high school, hadn’t really made closer ones in the jobs he had been in. But still…would they mourn him?
“It is sexually, it is anything the new soul desires.”
“And this is something you’ve done, as well?”
As soon as Ryan said it, he braced himself for ridicule. He knew it sounded stupid, had felt it sounded stupid, but just had to ask, was curious to ask.
Eira just regarded him with a blank face. “Of course”
“What if I wanted, just wanted I mean, a guide..?”
Something flickered in Eira’s eyes. A moment of doubt, Ryan thought he saw, but couldn’t tell, for it was gone a second later.
“Do you wish to request a different Valkyrie? I can suggest-“
“No no, not necessary”
Idiot.
“I just..I’m not a fan of the casual sex thing in general”
“Casual? Hm. Are you interested in…males?”
Ryan felt his cheeks burning. “No, I just…I mean, straight up sex is…I’m not really a fan, you know. I’d like to get to know a person first, I…”
Eira was watching him closely.
“It’s not that this isn’t…all attractive, and you..I mean…this isn’t not a turn on, it is..I just…don’t…right now…”
Eira’s face and eyes relaxed. She smiled, seemingly satisfied with his answer.
“Eira”
A voice, low and commanding, came from their right.
Ryan looked over to see a fellow Valkyrie, tall and dark-haired, walking over to them. She wore the same necklace as the raven-haired woman Ryan saw earlier, her arms were covered with the same tattooed black flames twisting up the length of her lightly tanned arms.
Eira bowed and the woman bowed back, and then regarded Ryan with a half-smirk, her deep blue eyes glistening in the light of the bonfire.
“Your new soul?”
Eira nodded, staying silent.
“Why aren’t you naked?”
“I…”
“Furthermore, why aren’t you wearing your collar? You know the All-Father’s rules.”
Ryan looked to Eira, whose eyes seemed suddenly hurt.
One hand was raised to her neck, feeling for the collar that wasn’t there. Ryan hadn’t even noticed.
“I…I must have left it at my station.”
The dark-haired woman tilted her head at the response, her eyes moving to Ryan, still with that half-smirk.
“We carry that collar everywhere. Everywhere. It represents the All-Father.”
The dark-haired woman bowed with her left hand balled into a fist resting on her chest, while her right hand came outstretched, palm open, and Eira returned the gesture.
Ryan watched on as the two women faced each other.
The dark-haired woman was taller than Eira, with Eira coming to rest at the dark-haired woman’s shoulders.
“Don’t forget next time you go beyond, alright?”
Eira nodded. “Yes, sister”
Sister?
The woman Eira named ‘sister’ nodded. “Oh, and a word away from your soul? I’m sure he won’t mind a look around.”
Eira nodded and turned to face Ryan.
“This shouldn’t take long” She said and offered a little gesture somewhere between a curtsy and a bow.
With that, Eira and the dark-haired woman stepped away from him and Ryan was left alone.

He was suddenly uneasy, unwilling to look up in case he made eye contact with any one in the midst of an intimate encounter.
From across the bonfire, there came the sound of a woman orgasming, her cries echoed across from the other side of the bonfire, sounding, to Ryan’s ears, oh so delightful.
“You’re new” Came a voice, gruff and low.
Ryan looked to his right and saw a dark-skinned creature approach him.
It had the appearance of a dwarf, short and big-bellied. Its curious black eyes regarded Ryan as it sat down beside him, tucking its navy kilt underneath its bottom as it sat.
Ryan could barely hold back his scream. It came out like a hiccup.
The dwarf-like creature seemed to smile, revealing a crooked line of yellow teeth.
Along with the smile, Ryan’s eyes were drawn to its thick light-brown ears twitching on the creature’s head.
“It’s obvious by the bewildered look on your face”
The dwarf-like creature chuckled, deep and throaty.
Ryan stammered – but couldn’t find the words.
Suddenly the world seemed smaller, more dream-like.
He almost wanted to reach out and touch the tuft of fur on the dwarf-like creature’s chin, just to make sure what he was seeing was real and not the sort of characters he had read about in fantasy novels.
The dwarf-like creature’s eyes sharpened. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?”
Ryan averted his eyes, looked back down at his feet.
The dwarf-like creature threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
It smacked Ryan fair and square on the back, knocking Ryan off balance.
“I’m just joshing with you, lad! I’d expect a human to stare. It’s only natural to be curious.”
Ryan tried to force a smile but he just felt stupid.
“I am Mort, son of Martin. I hail from Niðavellir, home of the Dwarves!”
“Ryan” Was all Ryan could say weakly.
Mort laughed. “Ryan eh? I have not met a ‘Ryan’ yet. I shall journal this on the ‘morrow”
All Ryan could do was nod and avert his eyes. He suddenly felt a bit dizzy.
Home of the Dwarves? Is this really happening?
“My first time was the same, I do admit! Looking around and seeing all…this….there are no words, eh?”
Mort moved closer to Ryan. He was now shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
Not knowing whether to make eye contact or not, Ryan forced another smile, keeping his eyes pinned to the ground.
“It is a big honor, yes? Being chosen for the battle?”
Ryan brushed the smoke out of his eyes, making eye contact with Mort for the first time.
“Battle?”
“Aye, the looming battle! Has your slave not told you about what’s to come? Why we’re here?”
All Ryan could do was shake his head.
Then the curious creature named Mort told him everything.

***

 

After Kára had finished going over the details for the passage to Valhalla, Eira made her way back to the bonfire.
Her mood was soured. Kára always had that effect on her, had always seemed to enjoy teasing her. Eira never understood why.
Kára was older than Eira and had arrived to Asgard well before Eira had.
She had been assigned to Eira to train her in combat, as well as slave training, and though the two became polite with one another, and Eira followed every training order and stayed out of trouble, Kára seemed to relish in being a strict teacher.
Other Valkyrie’s voiced their opinion about Kára to Eira. They had done so often as they bathed together in the spring outside the walls of Valhalla.
Everyone had decided that while Kára could be a bit of a strict leader, her heart was in the right place, especially when it came to her role as a slave.
As Eira drew closer to the bonfire, she recalled Kára’s ferocious dedication to being a slave, having walked in on her whipping her back while reciting the All-Father’s slave mantra with precise clarity.
Eira admired her.
When Eira arrived to the spot she was standing with Ryan when Kára first walked over, she saw he was nowhere to be seen.
The thought crossed her mind that maybe he chose a different Valkyrie after all, so she walked around the perimeter of the bonfire, side stepping between Valkyries pleasing their men and women.
Ryan was nowhere to be seen.
At least around the bonfire.
This isn’t good, Eira thought. Walking Asgard unsupervised at night isn’t particularly dangerous, but the forest was a labyrinth, one a new soul was surely to get lost in.
Eira walked around the bonfire again, scanning the area more carefully. And that’s when she spotted him, leaning against the tree at the edge of the clearing.
As she approached him, she saw that his face was darkened.

At the sheer sight of it, a chill swept over her bare arms.
“Ryan?”
Ryan looked up, his face never changing from its darkened state.
“Ragnarok?”
Eira’s stomach sank.
Ryan, as if reading her thoughts, spoke again.
“Oh a Dwarf told me by the bonfire.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I was chosen for that? Plucked from my family when I could’ve been saving them when it happens. W-when you could’ve saved them. What’s that about, I mean, life as you know it, as I know it – it’s all going to end right?”
The hurt Eira could see in Ryan’s eyes made her feel uneasy.
“So the All-Father’s dreams have said, yes.”
“And it’s actually happening? I mean, this isn’t some misdirection?”
“Yes, soon The Giants will attack, according to the All-Father’s dreams…”
Ryan scoffed and fell to the ground. Eira couldn’t read his expression from where she stood.
She knelt down beside him and spoke gently and carefully.
“I’m sorry…I was waiting to tell you after the bonfire, after your mind adjusted. It’s why we’re here. It’s why any of us besides the gods themselves are here. We are training for war.”
Ryan buried his face in his knees, which were pulled up to meet his face.
“I already knew. I just needed to remember it from my…previous life”
Ryan choked out the last two words; Eira could hear the strain on his voice.
Without really knowing if she could or should, she rested a hand on his knee.
“You were dying, Ryan. And I had a choice in that moment to let you die and go to Freyja or come to Asgard”
Ryan looked up from his knee, his eyes fierce. “To fight your fight”
The words stung but Eira couldn’t relent. It was important, even in his grief, that he understood. “To fight the fight of the cosmos…”

She went on.
“I saw your strength in that moment, a fighter choosing to stick up for something so little. The passion I felt from you, it was my duty then and there to decide – and I do not regret my choice..”
“Choice? I’m not a fighter. I know nothing of battle!”
Ryan rose to his feet. “And what is all this…this nonsense? People being happy, dancing around? Does no one care about the life they left behind”
Eira rose too. Now Ryan was raising his voice at her and she could feel something burning up within her as well. What was it? Rage? Hurt?
“People are here because they care about the nine realms, about your world. Yes, they grieve but that grief drives them for the moment ahead when everything, everything we know, faces its end. So I am sorry, Ryan Kennedy, that your life came to an end but you are not the only one here grieving. Each one of us lost our lives, just as each one of us has a duty now to save the lives of the nine realms”

Eira could see Ryan’s eyes drift down. She trailed their line of sight down to the thin white lines craved into her fleshed.
The mysterious scars on the insides of her arms, the mystery of her previous life still forgotten to her, suddenly made her put her arms behind her back.
“We need people like you, whether you believe that or not.”
His eyes met hers then and once again, she spoke gently and slowly.
“And I promise you, you will always be able to see your family”

To be continued June 19th…

Canadian Purr

Your skin feels cool to the touch.

As I trail my hand up your thighs, darting under your skirt, I can feel the goosebumps raise beneath my open palm. 

My other hand, my free hand, is against your throat. Your cool threat, your throats clenched tight under my grip. So tight I can feel you try to breathe. You might be panicking.

Panicking for the air, for saliva to coat your tongue. 

All I want is to hear you purr. 
Canadians are quite lovely, I had been told before I arrived. Quite lovely indeed. 

Friendly, as the cliche went. Polite, lovely and friendly. 

And when I sat by myself on the tour bus, nestled into my assigned seating, I must admit I was taken aback by the sight of you, miss tour guide.

You, with your almond coloured eyes, sandy blonde hair, the way you say ‘pardon me?’ which just rolls off your tongue with cute accent. 

As soon as I laid my eyes upon yours, upon your slender frame, your white turtleneck hugging your neck and breasts, I knew. 

I knew I wanted to hear you purr.
That was five days ago now.

Now, we’re quite acquainted with each other.

I mean why else, on the night we’ve hit Banff, would you swing by my room, even when I asked politely?

And here you are, with your white skirt and grey woollen jumper. Laid back. I like it. 
I also like the warmth radiating from your cunt. From behind your…oh…oh my. Black lacy panties? Beautiful and classical. 
You struggle now but I hope you reconsider. I really do want to purr and I don’t really want to force it out of you. This is my holiday, after all.
Behave, will you? I surely hope you will. You struggle as I reach down to peel your panties back, but I have you under control. You try to bite at me but that just makes me harder. 
‘Open your mouth’ I say. 

You refuse.

I ask again.

You refuse. 

I squeeze tighter. 

You relent.

I stuff your panties into your mouth. Taste yourself. 

You spit it out instantly but I’m giggling. Don’t give me that look, it was worth it. Lighten up.

It takes a little longer to remove your jumper, even longer to remove your blouse. 
When I see your round full breasts, threatening to bust out of your bra, I can’t help it. My hand wanders, trailing up your thigh.

I start to curl my finger around your trimmed pubic hair. You whimper, something animalistic and guttural. 

You’re shaking by the time my index finger is curling along your clit. You’re slightly wet, whether you like it or not. 

You don’t, of course, judging by your muffled cries. But I don’t mind. 

I take my index finger from your clit, slip it under the cups of your bra and rub it in your soft nipple till it hardens.

You grunt in disgust. 
Your scream is stifled. No. Don’t do that again. 

I drag you across to the bathroom sink of the hotel by your neck, tearing into my back pack with my free hand. 

It takes some digging, some juggling to keep you under control, but I’ve found it. The maple tea leaves you made for the people on the bus.
We’re gunna have some tea.
As I boil the jug, I tell you to kneel. 

As I prepare the cups, I tell you to stay still.

You glare at me, with a fire so bright in your eyes, but you relent. 

With the jug boiled, I pour into the cups, stir it around. 

The scent of maple fills the air. 

You start to sob but I tell you to hush, with a finger to my lips. I can taste you. 

With the same free hand, I take a sip. It’s smooth but intoxicating. Honestly the best blend I’ve ever have. 
I then take out the tea bag, push you back into the bed and put my weight against you. 

You struggle. 

I run the tea bag across your cheek.

You struggle.

I run the tea bag across your breasts, past your hardened nipple.

I leave a trail of hot maple tea down your stomach, your body seizes at the touch, at the unknown invader. 

I rest the tea bag on your clit – and what looks like a fierce spasm jolts your entire body.

You freeze, gasp and let out a low cry. 

Will you purr for me now, I wonder, as I lower my mouth to taste your maple flavoured cunt. 

The Unloved Mother

What does she feel, this unloved mother, this glowing woman on the brink of something she doesn’t comprehend, when she steps out to the grocery shops with her family, in her dark blue floral dress that’s a little more low cut then she realises.
What does she think when she walks the aisle, picks up the Rye bread like she’s done so many times, looking at a young couple walk past, laughing and flirting and nestled into each other close.
Will she ponder her age, her age of fifty seven, what her teenage years was like, sitting in the drive in, watching the shark claim it’s next victim in the summer of 1974. 
Will she think of that time in the shower a month ago, where she pulled on her nipple till it felt like the skin was tearing off, where she fell against the bathroom wall and cried because she didn’t understand. 
Is that what she feels, when she places the bread into the shopping basket, forcing a smile to her unknowing husband, who doesn’t know what she’s thinking. Does she feel the pulling sensation, tearing through her flesh, through her fabric, at her consciousness?
Will it make her scream when he asks what’s next on the list, because she can’t stand it – not another day of this routine, this mechanical, every beat, every sweep accounted for, routine of shopping. Will it make her want to tear every item of clothing off her body, till her clothes lay in shreds at her feet, till the coolness of the store air con kisses her nipples, will it make her want to curse, this desire. Curse at the top of her lungs, every obscenity, every humiliating, Degrading slur towards her world, herself, her husband and her son. 
Because she doesn’t want this, this life, this family, this husband in this one story home, this old car they’ve had, her old dresses, she doesn’t want anything right now because she wants to fuck. She wants to take the hand of this young man, take him from his young girl and show him that she can fuck. That she wants to fuck. That she lives for, would die right now, for a cock, so thick, so hard, to just ease into her, or slide or slam in roughly, she’ll take anything. 
She doesn’t want to think, not about food, not about the mortgage, not about her husband losing his drive to fuck, not about her own lack of interest. 
She doesn’t want to think about tomorrow, how she’ll judge herself, her body, her mind, her desires.

All she wants to, this unloved mother, is fuck. To grunt like an animal on the cold hard floor of the store, to be taken savagely like she’s never tried, like this moment in time will allow, as it stops for her, free of judgement and ridicule. 
Will they notice? The men, the woman of the store, will they they notice her unexpectedly too low cut dress, revealing her plain white bra and curves of her breasts. Will they wonder or hope or dream or fuck their partners that night to the curves of her breasts? 
As she pulls the strap of her dress back up on her shoulder, she wonders as she aches secretly. To no one but herself. 
And as her husband directs her down the aisle, she follows. Grateful for his existence. 

Late Night Darkness

  
What is it about the idea of finding a pretty lady off the street, tossing her into my imaginary van, tearing off her clothes and repeatedly thrusting my hands and cock into her cunt that entices me so? 
Let’s assess this rather primal thought. 
Okay, so I’m a savage. We all knew that. But does it go deeper? 
Its not the act of sex itself that gets me hard, it’s much more. 

It’s taking this person, all that she is, all that makes her something — and finding that raw centre she hasn’t managed to hide away properly. 
It’s the imagery in my mind – the sights! The sounds! She’s gasping and low short distressed groans escape her lips. It’s the sound of how the fabric that hides her body tears when I rip it off her. 
And when her breasts spill out, how will they fall? What are their shape? Is there a freckle or two sprinkled across that pale canvass?
What underwear does she choose? Lace? Silk? Satin? Cotton? What colour? What pattern? If anything. She might go commando, like the cheeky teen needing to be punished. 
The crowning thought, I guess, is taking her from her world and bringing her into mine. The person she might’ve saved herself for, the person she’s loyal too – I’m taking that, violating that. Her shaven or trimmed or natural cunt is mine for the taking. 
And will I think that? When I lower myself on her? Well I wonder if the shape of her body fits perfectly with my mouth – so that when I eat her out, my mouth is a snug fit for her pussy. Would we be made for each other? 
O how I want to drink, like a maddened vampire. Every last drop. Till she’s broken and sore and red. I want to slurp, I want to suck. I want to bite.
So I like the idea of taking a woman and stripping her down to her core. It’s very primal, very caveman-like. But there’s something more there. Maybe it’s pretentious but there’s a sense of longing, belonging and admiration for the beauty of sexuality, sensuality and nakedness. 

There’s a curiosity for what lies underneath. And what does that make me? A man? A dominant? Something more? 
You see…for anyone reading but scared to write in and say hello, know this: it’s okay to be dark. Because here I am, dark too. 
But anyway, that’s my late night darkness. 

Madness

 

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If you think you are safe while you hide beneath the covers, I assure you that you are not.

While you convince your mind that you love your spouse, that your loyal…that there is no reason to fear, I assure you: There is.

Because there will be no reasoning when I take you. When the door hitches open within your fantasy and you hear my growl in the darkness, your body will betray you.

Do you know that feeling? Where the body wants to let go but the mind is torn between reason? I know you do. I know you’re feeling it know. I know your cunt can feel the slightest ache as you play the memory back again.

So you can tell yourself in the dark that it’s okay, that you belong to another. That you’re sensible and level headed. But when my breath skims your thigh, when I pant over your cunt, we both know that all the years you’ve been faithful, through thick and thin, won’t matter. All that matters is how my tongue glides along your lips so effortlessly that you can’t help but think you were always meant for this.

And when your legs part, while your partner snores softly beside you, you will part your legs and wonder just how rough my tongue is, just how sensitive you might be to my touch.

And all reason will leave your mind. And all that will be left, as you sink under the weight of my mouth on your cunt, will be

 

 

 

 

madness

Through the space of darkest dreams

n-1

I wonder
Through time and space
Are your lips, so sweetly sealed,
kissed with the same gold
that your frame is blessed with?

I wonder
As I so greedily feast upon the fruit,
Do you, as sun and sound fades,
sense the animal within me?

I wonder
Through the space of darkest dreams obtained,
Is the memory in the sequence,
Has the appetite touched you,
Have you tasted its sweetness?

And I wonder,
through a new age of light,
Has the fire, with its all consuming warmth,
taken you as its victim?