Breakfast

You are kneeling at my feet beside the table, looking up at me with shy eyes. I love how light they turn when you're happy- from brown to an almost-hazel shade, hiding behind your hair as it falls into your face.

I love you like this, your body loose and relaxed as you lean against my thigh a little, your face open and smiling. You know what is coming, know what I will do to you... and you want it.

I love you for that. Love you for your willingness, your lack of defense mechanisms when you are with me. I love you for the fact that you never tell me, "no". It makes me feel as though I own the world, and at the same time it's incredibly humbling- this knowledge that you will do as I ask, even if it is harmful, and the responsibility that attends it.

Tenderly now, I weave my fingers into your hair, drawing you closer to me and pressing your face into my thigh. I want you near me.

My plate is beside me, biscuits steaming fresh from the oven with butter melting into them, and sausage patties cooked with queso, and I smile down at you, breaking off a bite of biscuit and placing it in your mouth. I see the momentary flinch, the lifetime of memories and fears swimming in your eyes and I tighten my hand in your hair, just a little and watch you relax. This is beautiful to me: the melting of your fears into the warmth of my hands, the rising tide of trust in your eyes as you accept the bite from my fingers.

Your lips are so warm on my hands... I'm transfixed by the sight.

Another bite, a little sausage this time, and I give you a sip of hot tea.

Next time, the tea will be in a bowl on the floor.

You're slipping down now, the sense of 'self' in your eyes fading, until for just this moment all you are, all you have ever been or ever will be, is my pet. My toy. My darling boi.

You will return to yourself: I know it, trust it as you trust me... but for this moment, as you slip down into my eyes, unto the warmth of my hands and the bites of food from my fingers, I watch you made safe.