Tracking the Remembrance of Touch

O-rages for Oshun

lustfilled scumbag
Shut up.  Now.
Good tops exist.  Find one.
Good tops who can carefully manage
Woolly-haired bottoms.  Fine one, ssh.
And cast your eyes down.
If you must smile
Wipe what it implies from your mind.
Fine too.  Don't ever tell a top
You've been led on (by him).
A top is not a tease.  Always.
No complaints out of you.
A top knows timing
Whether to mix verbal abuse and a grip.
Consider it honour to be
Lashed by words shaped for you.  Alone.
Bend your body to thanks.
But don't touch.
Don't even look.

Orange seeds, I'll spit five your way.
The rind is mine.

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Tracking the Remembrance of Touch ©1996 François Lachance