It is time once again.
A ponderous moon melts on the simmering horizon as I scuttle through the sultry night
Toward the vacant warehouse where you await me.
Reaching the alleyway door, I wrench it free in a grate of noise
To press myself between bluntly welded sides and step within.
The faint odour of disinfectants is loomed upon coolly veiled dampness
And my nostrils flare while I flush with hedonic anticipation.
Skeletal ironwork girds the dearth of light above,
Warping my footfalls into scandent echoes when I move forward.
There you are, like always.
Steeped in shadow just beyond the splashing glare from our floodlamp
Where its lengthy cord snakes across ragged concrete into the fringe.
Great silhouettes are mysteriously framed behind you,
Mechanical contrivances built specially for these secret trysts.
Your eyes meet mine, with appetence, across the dimness
And whispered frissons shed spheres of sweat from my body, nude beneath silk.
A stainless steel cart rattles over stone crevices, assaulting the vast stillness,
As you push it toward me, til it is captured by the lamplight between us.
Gleaming upon polished trays are an array of sterile tools,
Our implements of ritual.

We stand, lit brightly naked.
Not speaking, not touching, we perform practiced routines, trembling and aroused.
Only the caress of medical solutions and the embrace of surgical steel
Invoke the essence of foreplay to our bizarre rites.
You bow before me, breathing rhythmically, and I douse your back with antiseptic.
I lightly knead your shoulders to loosen tissue from muscle fiber.
Tensely hovering, I position a large gauge beveled needle
Near clamped skin scarred from previous piercings.
When you exhale deeply, I skewer with steady force through dermal layers,
Following with solid curving steel hooks that glint wickedly from your pliant flesh.
Our conjunct energies potently roil,
Intensifying as I repeat the procedure three more times, carefully and precisely.
A steamy heat pervades the static air and we rest, our hands keeping place.
Bloodied sweat trickles off your pulsing back when you prepare me.
My body quickens, skin blistering, as I brace myself for fierce, sensile throes.
I welcome the thrusts of pain and channel them through pure, vital whorls of pleasure
Into thunderous depths of resonance.

At the shadow's edge,
We methodically rig our strange equipment, setting gears and readying ropes.
My flexing shoulders enflame and scream blindly at the searing nighttime.
Yet I am exhilarated, my senses ripened by dark promises.
I proficiently connect a metal bar to your flesh hooks,
Adjusting lengths of laced cord before fastening to a motorized cable overhead.
Taking my harness apparatus, you attach my lacings next.
Each hook's snap claims me, plunging keenly through my very core.
Now I face you and step forward so, at last, we touch.
Melding into you, I am wildly charged by our powerful synergy
And fumble to enwrap us both with the leather waist strap
Before cinching it tight and latching on to a heavy, braided rope.
Your glazed eyes lock to mine,
Then you flick the control and we turn, grinding in slow circles on a wooden dais.
Thick rope coils surround and bind our cleaved torsos,
Climbing up, then down with layered ranks until a clasp catches, the platform stops,
And fraying ends sweep from the giant spool to drape our feet.
Lips brushing wordlessly, we pause.

And then it commences.
The final, profound act, the culmination of our recondite ceremonies.
My quivering fingers press the cable switch so that iron chains clamor above.
The harness bars lift, smoothly snugging cords to metal
Until each hook rakes peaks of skin taut and we rise upward like summoned puppets.
My trussed body wails with agony while four carmine rillets plumb the void beneath me.
We become one percipient entity, suspended vincibly from cryptic darkness.
My labored breathing slows to match yours as we sway in a glut of sensation.
Girdled, we have no division, but hang conjoined by our covenant with steel.
The primal burning smears reality into limbic stains and we viscidly teem
Through portals of tormented ecstasy where our molten pain is infinitely consummated.
Lost in sentient realms of pungent blackenings, we seek to lushly fathom
The transcendental oblivion.

Copyright © 2004 by D. Wakefield