Passages of Intercessions

A piece that asks my owner for her objective.

I can remember her hygiene now, as when I raced back home to my roots to let my family know there was  a woman who allowed me the moist earth of her footprints. To touch the palm of her hand, from which dawned a reddened cheek by the subtle movements I made as her property. There was a small balcony, and a banner that I believed could be as luminous, as Mrs Nancy's saliva as it opened and closed my pores, with a delicious palette I would  too familiarly hold to self preservation in consuming the ambrosia of her shitting, and pissing in my mouth.

"What in History do you attest to?." she would ask.

"What is your experience in you personal and private life." Mrs. Nancy would now continue with me.

      The interludes when I would gaze at nothing in particular, but somehow see her a*****e open, the fruit of a  tapestry of licorice and maple roots, would now help me to settle in my personage, my beginnings as a mature possession which until now had been seized, but by Mr.s Nancy had been anointed, and each olfactory would be offered such deliverance, perhaps repentance, and an intuitive congruency on her part. That I completely loved, and would give my life to not only eating her s**t from her a*****e, and drinking her pee, but wanted to enhance the many moods I could familiarize myself with her by the opening, and release of her s**t in my mouth. Were she and I actually to have a race to the misanthropy of gossip. I did not know, but I did not want her to miss anything of my being her property, by my abusing my rights, and thus clarifying that there is something, or someone else who is as attractive. Who could ever compare to her bowel, and my hope that I never call this to question, and that she correct me if this were so.

"Yes, Mrs Nancy correct me." I would whisper as though through wars of our respected tribes possession, and how during infancy, and adolescence I believed her feces to be celestial. "I will wait for your shitting and peeing to enter my mouth." I would even say sternly. As when Mars and Aphrodite spun sonnets of chastisements and fidelities.

What does a muse mean if it is as open, and divinely inspired. How could I have an owner who does not state her the objective of her purpose, the reasons I am  s**t, and an acceptance of my end. The textures this will take, and the substance of it's shape and form. I would beg to be reminded when I knew she would leave, and the toilet bowl would flush, as an alternative mood that her body exasperated from shitting and peeing in my Mouth, would pass again to leave me dreamy, and even weary.

May these days then represent my experience. May they be presented as a cognizance she has as my owner. I am humbly, humbling myself on inward ground. The inward ground that Mrs. Nancy s***s and pees in.

In a way analysis is an alliteration, we speak of the truth of a deathly ill, while in my fondest of thoughts contained in her diaphragm, to come, and go, and go, as Mrs. Nancy may have shat and peed in me for my entire life, I offer her my mind in slight purifications as an opening to truths, and confidences that are, but not strictly, a motionless, and silent witness to beauty. A comment  to what we allude to in her propriety, and the beauty, and affection I adore, as I do adore her shitting, and peeing in my mouth from her a*****e.