Darkness, and the faint glow of light; From Candles or from bulbs.
The air, cool and comfortable, my skin heated - growing warmer.
Breath is short. I do not move, I do not dare; unless I am told to do so.
A breath comes about quiet, my own; I hear this heart beat in these ears -
A feeling washed over this body, of a soul quivering guilt of just being ; molded and overpowered by the feelings of right, and belonging. Righteousness does not exist here.
The rope wounds over and across this body, pulling, scratching, constricting like a serpent around my every part, my every curve.
These wrist, bend and fidget nervously, bound behind me, in my back's small.
The hand, it controls my every move, my very being - moving gently across this skin; My back, shoulder, elbow.. Cherishing and caressing my flesh for what it is.
A holy fire trailing along and staying with each touch, causing unholy feelings.
A palm softly lies on my head, stroking shortly, petting... It rest there in the mome