A poem of disillussionment.

Turn over that sentimentality,
Turn away from your anxieties.
Behold a secret hand you've never held before.

Perhaps it should have been obvious,
And yet for some time it was nowhere to be seen.
For me it should have been more obvious.
And yet the reality was quite different.

In those long years in BDSM,
I hung around in shadows around the rim.
And yet now in silence I wait.
For my own ideas about what I've wanted
Have turned on themselves,
And yet now in silence I wait.

If we could put aside our differences,
If we could find so other way to settle difficulties.
Perhaps someday a a secret hand,
With a green and red band,
Holds out you've never held before.

My silence at night,
Is filled with adult fright.
Yet they may seem subdued tonight.

And yet I hold the vague image closer.
On all these starry nights.