To my Sweetness

[baalesh]

Ruffled ribbons of cloths clutter the bed's face,
a testament to the night's fervor,
a visual precognitive display,
for the observer to make note;
to shiver their lowers swift.

I drink in the sight once more,
reveling in my conquest, my capture.
T'was not the Sweetness savaged, no
but the memory of that eve's events
that I strike my slave in the confines
of my mind evermore.