The Prince

Val. Valiant. Call me as you will.


A poem about oneself? A self-portrayal in that format? Forgive me but I am certainly not so vain. Besides, there is nothing to tell that cannot be read in what is written in the following pages… this is a gift from me to you.



Lucius

My love, my prince. And I am all yours. Forever and always.


I lie awake, alone,
Wishing I was with you.
I dream…
Of your lips, your touch.
Of long nights in your arms.
Of your fervent, whispered words,
And your breath on my skin.
I sleep…
And dream of you.

I met you first of the three. And it didn’t take long for me to fall for you. You call yourself mopey and miserable, you find yourself unattractive. You’re so insecure about yourself that I feel myself desperate to convince you otherwise by any means. To me you are perfect, you are beautiful, inside and out. As you don’t believe it, I’m going to spend my life with you, showing you that you are.



Alexis

A beautiful creature. Possessed by no one.


You are my sin.
A wicked smile spreads across your lips,
You’re watching me?
Though,
I think you watch your own reflection.
I melt at your touch,
Follow blindly your seduction,
Walk into your embrace.
I’m yours to take.

It surely couldn’t be a mistake to wander blindly into your arms - I’ve been in worse places. You’ve always known what to do, which buttons to press, to get the right reaction. To make me want you more. You’ve slowly coaxed me out of that little shell I used to hide in - I can only hope you enjoy me all the more for it. Though, I’ve noticed something - I’ve mentioned a fine, fine line between pleasure and absolute agony… you’re like that sometimes. You can be that line. Where I desire you so much it hurts. And you just keep teasing. You were most likely the inspiration for that line… and the next. It probably pleases you to hear these words.



Nephamael

Master of me. For ‘my master’ would be incorrect, in no way do I possess you.


You seem to love the feel of me against your skin…
or the look of the knife,
the white line across my flesh.
Teeth marks in my shoulders.
Raw red wrists where the ropes dig in.
You seem to love the sound of my voice
as I whisper your name.
Moan, whimper.
The cries held in.

But, in truth, we both know, you’d rather play a rougher game. One that wouldn’t fit into poetry like that. I’m not in a rhyming mood - it wouldn’t please you anyway. We both know you’d rather I screamed and writhed, completely powerless, completely under your control. And each time we meet, you get that little bit closer and closer to what you really want.
I wish you would just take it. I love the sound of your voice as you command me, the way your touch makes me shiver. The ache in my arms when I’m strung up, how my breath catches as the cold steel touches my skin. How far would you go, really? Or is there still too much of Lucius left with you, ready to reign you in, when you’re beginning to toe that line he‘s set for you?