In the chamber where the rose unfurls its thorns, I bind you soft in silken cords of night. Your breath becomes the incense of my altar, Your body the offering I claim by right. Kneel, my sweet apostate of the flesh, Let the balance tip between the lash and kiss. Creation and destruction in one pulse, Where pain becomes the purest form of bliss. I mark the sacred geometry upon your skin, A rose of crimson blooming under chain. You yield, you rise, you fall into my rhythm, The order of desire that knows no shame. Through equilibrium we find our law: The dominant and the willing, intertwined. Your surrender is the crown I place upon you, My hunger is the temple where you’re refined. So take the thorn, take the petal, take the fire, In the name of Rosarius we ascend. Kink and sacrament, the same dark flower, Until the end of flesh, and then beyond the end.
