Evocation

A spell, evocative: shapeshifting door, metaphysical, Schroedinger revolves,

Exploring whether I would bend at your feet, a lifetime that submits, finally,

To a belt, I’m Schroedinger’s kitten, for I’d be your submissive, on demand,

Mid space, you rip at my heart, but, silly me, does she love me, or love not,

Superimpose my wish to be, that she does, my leather-clad nymph, transformed, a tiger,

And baring down, unrobed, yet be it delusion, then I create the space around me,

Change the air to pink, 10 foot erection, fertile, can make the poesy grow, craft a magic

Word to use as my bow, I call from becoming unreal: how do I like it? What do I know?

Elven, please, obsessed with a dominatrix, and shifting doors, as her mind reveals

In games, among emotions tears equal laughter, uncertainty equals excitement

Dressed in crowns of curls: how does she like it? Turning me the fuck on, no woman knows

How she drives it thru the door, my saviour, in rays of desire, queen of uncertain

Evocation, yourself, a sadistic artist, I dress up thrilled, now, tho I never know the why of it

Hence, I only exist if you say I exist, and at your request, I live and die