by j.r. uder
(11/15/06)

poetry in bdsm

silicon chain- (e)mail:
the new fetish gear --
now with links!

We're out of the dark
ages, where bodies were
real, and armoured

in lead. I am virtual,
and my chain mail
is vitreous, clearly covering

so much more and less
than that other tarnished, antiquing,
cold-clinking dress --

the drives (and the drivers) now
ride pentium horses,
and you tell me "i <3 u,"

but that sort of magic
was out-dated by cyber;
if you don't spell it out,

I can't quite believe it.
I miss the (k)nights
before the celeron fairytale,

when I was the pony
whippped into creamy;
I miss the nights

when you rode me and rode me,
and my thigh-highs met sunrise
in tight-laced corsets.

Before digital nightmares,
there were hand-written letters --
and you pinned me,

and quilled me
and sealed me
in whax.

My steel was stolen
in Silicon Valley,
and CTS is my new greatest fear;

what happened to bondage? and soft
fleece-lined shackles? where are the cuffs
that were tricking my ankles?

viole(n)t wands hummed the body
electric; not like the shush
of a screen made un-static.

The links in these chains have
become soft and... ethereal;
they no longer hold me

in rapture; I'm freer.
The netting below me
is a promise of safety,

but my nerves sing
(like thrumming) for chords
far more touching --

I need hoarse whispers
and threatening caresses.
I miss the b(y)te of

cold chain-mail dresses.

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