"Phoenix Force: Captivity"

"Phoenix Force: Captivity"

If bondage is predetermined,
grant me playfulness in resistance.
Instantaneous the initial moment
of our embrace in violent splendor.

Me,
the lender of means
with no intent of retraction;
falling through like I've been calling you.
Reach in the secrecy of indecency for me.

These wings weak from diligent expenditure;
fascination rekindled and smoldering.
For what I'm shouldering,
lust takes step between breaths.

I inhale the atmosphere just to see clear.
Found my vision impaired
by the scent of your hair.
Sight blurred by the things I've heard.

Coupled with fragrance is the cadence;
sharp yet soft in melody.
Your response my levity.
Therapy keen and unclean;
filthy and floral.

Floored by the noxious fume
that is your perfume;
I barely manage a wince
in light of blatant hints.
You coddle me as I continue following.

Embers burn slow as the wind blows.
I am now less feign in surrender:
The pretender you will find
is now your willing concubine confined.

Fits of strength abound,
you illustrate what you've allowed;
straddling stints of my desire
before gorging on my fire.
You pick me apart.

You carefully impart
certain fragments of my heart
to that which remains within these walls.
Wishes left untold you surely swallow whole.

Thoughts that you find
you engulf and bind;
be it maligned or undefined.
Never felt this fine.
I'd hazard no guess on you being so kind.

I've done wonderfully nasty things
to you in this mind of mine;
acts better left at
the knees of pure conviction.
No contemptuous affliction.

No opinionated snide would dare
to venture where these thoughts reside.
My favored adage is your point of view.
No disjoint in your vantage.

Slated between your misinterpreted indifference
and misunderstood drive
are these talons of mine;
digging deep as I am slow to seep.

You endeavor to have me reach your core;
basting me in my own languish
until my flame is extinguished.
If vitality is left, it crept forward;

Finding refuge in lips divine
that have offered warning signs:
the song of sirens foretold
to those willing to be bold.

Only the foolish scold;
slashing through the burning cold
as if dry air leads
to the fountain atop this mountain.
This is where I remain.

I embrace the stains
and these moist chains;
flying high enough to shriek
but returning when you speak.
I am yours within our will. P†F

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz