Passion is my Prison

Stern hands that were a threat - Our encounters lit desire like a cigarette. I kept mistaking it for worship and care… Was it pleasure or aggression when your fingers pulled my hair? Was the red on the collar lipstick or blood? Passion while it’s a dormant poison - nip its bud. Our positions versatile Oh, those bruises, how they beguile… It tasted like danger, I let it stain my tongue - The bite marks on my neck, the burn in my aching lung. We weren’t lovers; we were weapons pointed at each other. Another cry you chose to smother. Gashes and hits: bandaged and kissed. Delicate touches, examining my wounds. Stroking out my moods, I pray to you, pain obtunds. Writhes and whimpers - lacy gown, hold me down with crimpers. Swollen lips - whiskey sips. Nails drag up my spine, I've never felt so alive, I can't leave the torture, I need it to survive.