Blooming

I strain at the cords by which you’ve bound me. Bodily I am yours. You want more. You want the great blooming welts to point the way to a love that claims all. With coffeehot soothing hands you take as much as you can and give me everything I need. You give me your darkness, your darkest, mysteriously proud I can take it and transform it into starbursts. How can this miracle be? In place of a gnawing blankness there is now the wriggling of joyous worms entwined. View is free of early birds and full of nightbloomed flowers; We make grand plans. And I keep straining at the cords, keeping up with your enchantment.