Release

This night, a table is set for me, although my enemies watch and wait.

Things are not what they seem. Slaves often have to survive by subterfuge.

The Z’roa, Beitzah, Maror, Charoset, Karpas, and Chazeret are my feast.

Of them, the most heartrending are the lamb shank that represents the Passover sacrifice, reminds me that flesh is transitory, exists to be offered. The bitter herbs, are only slightly less so, than my tears.

I partake of my small feast. The sacrifice will be one day rewarded.

I have been set apart, chosen, to dedicate my efforts to your salvation.

I bear the blood of the Lamb, an indelible mark across my heart and soul. I wait, and watch, for your bondage to end.

As you sleep tonight, burrowing deeper into your bed, will you even stir, as you are passed over?

Measure

This day, another can explain it much better than I.

What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.

“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. First you’ll sit down at a little distance from me – like that – in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you’ll sit a little closer to me, every day…”

The next day the little prince came back.

“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If for example, you came at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is ready to greet you…One must observe the proper rites…””

–The Fox; Antoine de St. Exupery’s The Little Prince, Chapter 21

Petros

You are hard and cold, just as the marble statues which wait for us in the nave at church.

But they warm, as the candles are lit, and breath passes over them. The moisture from our mouth, first little droplets, soon to coalesce on the veined surfaces.

You too, warm, as I breathe upon you, and sing your praises with my mouth running along your flesh.

Whenever I pass one, I skim a finger across it.

Your cock is composed of that same hard unyielding stone, pulled deep from within the earth. When I touch of them, I also touch you.

Thrust

Like my crucifix, your picture hangs on the wall. Right next to the mirror, so I can look at my reflection  looking at an image of you. But I do not worship or idolize.

Gazing steadily, I feel myself moisten, as I think of how it feels to be under you. You are the imago, the one that draws my eye.

However, like my crucifix. you are there only to be adored. I can hold you, not penetrate your still frame.

But I can touch him, Or rather, he touched me.

I name him your adversary. He caressed my breasts, grazed my hips, stood behind me and bent me double, driving home…where you have been. At least until now.

I was shaken that I could have room not just for God but also you and this one. I can’t serve two masters, thus he will not be one,
He wraps his fingers in my hair, he tells me I the finest woman he has seen in a long time, he whispers that he will do whatever it takes to be with me. “Sweet Baby, just ask me…”

Is he truthful?
I am going to find out. If so, you will find out, as well.

I f not, I wiil hold my peace either way. You do the same, but you do yours through lies, to obscure the truth.