He is the sword forged from starlit cascade,
luster raised, core heat, and fiery shine.
Black flame stoked copper embers, poured
slick to form his mineral strength: desire.
How he stands regal, a body of celestial
elements with eyes spun from sun—
he knows—in the blade of him
is our core, our trust, our final hope.
Unassuming bravery, he’s drawn
at the ready, gleam in his eye. Here,
let his black silk strands lash you;
put hot cheek to his saber shine.
Rise and dip from sun-tipped plane
to strong-jawed percussion. Taste
security as desire moans up you, lips
bedding his so pliant in their demand.
Your breast along his central ridge pulses;
tongue seeks coarsened chin, the concave
that slides you down the corded strength
of a neck, satin sheathed, to withstand
your hungry bite. We’re subjects, supplicant
in our need, fingers eyes mouths beholden
to him—kneeling at sword point, to tongue
the sculpted bevels, polished contours,
sword-slick drawing us to the tip.