Hands worship my body.
Men battle a great fight of fluster.
They shrivel in my hands for attention
Why do they flock?
Why do they flutter?
Unready to play my game, they surrender at my feet.
Crawl on their knees and bite the bullet of discipline for my skin.
Pleas for pleasure. Pleas for pain.
They worship my body for more than they can gain.
The Culture of Water 
Quite sad. Is that all they worship?
LikeLike