In your hands my body belongs as if it was genetically crafted to fit your touch. You tease my senses each time that we connect and I feel an electric like sensation streaming throughout my entire body.
Your strength makes me weak and I obey your every move. I give in and am fully yours. I bend and stretch to your command as if you were a potter and I was your clay. Your grip is firm and powerful.
The contrast of black and white becomes a tangled sculpture, a piece of art in motion. The intensity of us bursts out into a blur of colour and lust. You could mould me into shape again and again.
You are an artisan, working to perfection.
And I, I am your raw material wanting for your creativity to take over.