Bottom
by T.M. Gray

Pearly beams of moonlight
stretch across a chamber of pain.
I kneel,
always your slave, always fearful,
frozen here,
waiting.

Tortured forms writhe against steel bars.
Dust dances in the air
with each stroke of the whip
searing flesh with its kisses.

Realization dawns on the angel's face
and I raise my head,
embracing
this callous Limbo.

(c) 2000 T. M. Gray, All Rights Reserved

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(c)2000-2004, T. M. Gray. All Rights Reserved.

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