Spoken Word: 2 Poems by Kristin Garth
A lash that strikes a girl who feels no blow.
You beg, in text, discreetly over lunch.
Your master’s name you do not know.
Chatroom, summons, avatars you follow
a series, strangers with demands you serve
with just your hands. Type dialogue you could
not say. Your suffering for online pervs
is not roleplay. Time zone troubles, you should
just sleep. Online masters line up to beat.
You Google synonyms for cock & whore;
you fear their wrath, their boredom more. Repeat
performer keystrokes moans & cum. No
desire will touch a tongue. Each far away
word they say, their laptop sub will obey.
Taut thighs, nineteen, an alibi, a nude,
New Jersey. Leaned against a ladder back
a growl inside an ear. Your crop colludes
to cleave its way to pink. Its tongue that thwacks
a thirsty trek toward a taste of cleft
so deftly drinks the discipline of your
desire. A whistle race to sweat, lips left
to bite, bereft of breath. This run endured
its finish line is bed, a harried head,
a mane you groom to gleams, pristine and pure.
A ribbon and a rub before a spread,
a cooling down before another ride,
the keeper sets the gait, and I abide.