You’re my world.
She seethes a groped etiquette of disrespect until the punishment has been dealt and met.
She weaves transpondent memories with tearful eyes which begs and please.
She smiles a happy pleasured tone.
She’s on her knees.
That is her home.
Intertwined her hair in fist.
The bare white teeth the blood red kiss.
Crimson lips of fake despair.
The healing tongue, how she repairs.
It’s her choice to be ridiculed, vulnerable.
Pretend it hurts.
Her coy expression, twirling curls.
Pet names for a naughty girl.
Her actions scream “You are my world”
© G.P Williamson 2018