The sweetest crumb of my torture
is to remember the flame before it burned
The searing lash
of every kiss, a blister for every wound
every flicker inside
before it was mine.
Every inch in every space given
glows on my skin where lava trails
fill the veins who went there.
You say you like that it hurts me
that love remembered is etched in pain.
In pain? In stinging whip-cracks when it is given away.
I wonder if you will feel the same
when someone else is holding your whip.