I am his treasure. I am his jewel.

You are my treasure, he said.
You are my jewel.
And what you offer, he said
as I knelt before him,
my eyes married to his,
is beyond submission.

But first, not long after he arrived, not long after I took him to my bedroom, not long after he pressed himself against my soft, pale butt and ran his hands over my soft, yielding belly and passed his fingers under my soft, vulnerable breasts... first, I recited this poem, which I had written just this morning, in response to these instructions:

I want my Geisha; calm, dignified, soft in voice and body, knowing what I want and offering it gracefully.

I'm not sure if I was quite dignified. But I was definitely calm, most definitely soft, and there was no question that I knew what he wanted.

I was perfect, he said.

I am your Owner, he said.
I have Mastered you, he said.
Just as Yehudi Menuhin mastered his violin.

And here is the song that sang from my strings:

lotus blossoms, pink
and sweet as pussy petals,
line and scent the bed.

drink the liquor of her mouth.
she is yours alone.

teach her to be an autumn
leaf, losing her fear,
freeing her hands from the branch,
floating on your breath.

teach her to yield, then watch her
let go, surrendering all.