I have a ‘thing’ for perfect symmetry, fulfillment found through creating a mirror image of our desires, where my need to be hurt must match His to inflict.

Without it,
lust becoming tangled,
charring fear soaked edges of the lustrous silken thread.

If His need outmatches mine, then I will endure,
for that is
of my desire.
To endure, for Him, to be sated by His need.

But, if my need eclipses His, if my obsession with pain goes unheeded…
…of mind
and through the cracks submission would bleed, to pool insecurity at my frost-bound feet.