chain

Amar Shah · chain

Service top and bratty sub, two lovers
fearing both their shadows, but that was in
the past. Now they, mature, have made a game
of what they can endure, a bit of fun
for frightened teens they were. They show us all:

The chains will set you free, this shame will let
you be. Rise up and walk away. The shame,
the chains will stay, but you won't be restrained.

It's good. I like it, that we're going slow.
She chooses what we do and where we go.
I am released, from leadership released,
directing not. I must say yes, unless.
If we're to go I must say yes. I can
say no, though up to now I only want
to go. But I don't call the shots, select
the toys, or make the count—I just enjoy!
I don't say where to go. I wait to hear
the mistress' voice, her royal, guiding voice,
uplifting armies from the dust, "You were
slaves and now you're men—my men! Shiver
at my graceful touch. Rise and shiver,
widen shoulder, plant yourself and stand
to meet my gaze, be worthy of my touch."

My wishes for myself I meet, so many
touches for myself, for me, by me.
For me, with me, there's everything I'd want,
my life complete, my wishes for myself
I meet, and nothing that I crave from her.
Curious, I wait for her to show me
something new. My wishes for myself
I meet. My wishes for myself I meet.

There is a quest, a quest to make, to take
myself to edges where I staked my losses,
back to where I stood, to take me back
to trenches I'll defend, to finish journeys
to the end. To stand my body back,
to meet the boy who stumbled, pull him up,
to meet the enemy and push it back,
to finish work left open, be the person
I was born, to read the book up to
the very final line, and write the simple
honest, epigraph: This life was mine.