~94

As the leather slices me
I see you

The hand of the master
Not master

My back cries tears of blood
For dry eyes

In this life I have suffered far worse
At the hands of those supposedly more tender
Caresses
All bring pain
Every tender embrace
Brings on unknown torture

The worn whip of our love
Lies invisible in your left hand
In your right are the spikes you will use
To nail me to my cross
The one you helped me build
When my blindfold of thorns was secure

I wonder will you bathe in the blood
That will flow from the deep puncture wounds
Or somehow let it cleanse your spirit
Let it save your poor soul
As I slowly perish
Crucified for your sins


JBW - 11/95