THE IRON MASKED IRIS

I must taste those places ages untouched

till the coming of central plumbing

gagged your mouth reminds me

not to speak with soft leather

but firm in arced motion

meant to smooth gathered flesh

the ottoman a pedestal my workplace

to sculpt not just form

but essence infused

your body my medium

craves adulation bent

water smooth stone

awaits the first mallet blow

In its rainbow I am yours

licking you real forces peace