The Writings of a Ginger

I am soft and yielding,
molded by your desires.
Tell me what you wish.
Is this position right?
It hurts my knees but
I won’t say.
It seems to make you happy.
Dominated, I am your field,
you may work me as you wish.
My voice cries, it rips my throat,
as it screams your name;
my heart yells it, too.
Fingers yearn to grab hold
and never let you go,
so that you may remain
forever in me
and I forever happy.