A night moth was flying

Through the relentless summer rain.

The drops lashed frantically

At her flattened body

And it hurt — so what?

She wanted this, after all,

Here you can't deceive, can't lie.

How these vicious flashes of lightning

Tear at the feeble flesh,

Raising waves of pleasure!

You are beautiful — and guilty for

What the Lord bestowed upon you:

The ability to serve obediently

And allow yourself to be whipped.

Sinful, cursed, depraved —

A handmaid-yin to the lord "Yang"...

And though she perished irrevocably,

Every stroke back and forth

Was agonizing and pungent to her:

Lash then, rain, a thousandfold

Your divine trash.

To love, to soar — but can I fall

Before the one who crumples my wings,

Obediently offering myself to pain?

Forgive, Master, this mortal fool,

For not being able to burn to ashes...

"But he, rebellious, seeks a storm"?

She sought — and found.