The Sweetest Crumb

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

or taken

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.




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