Hanging from the ceiling,
waiting for the next sweet hit.
Baby, I love that feeling.
Give me all of it.
Don't hold back, darling.
Hit me where it hurts.
Let it all out on me
and hit me like you mean it.
Hit me
like I'm your first.
I don't deserve anyone's best:
So give me only your worst.
Be my prizefighting poet,
throwing only punches
without speaking any words.
And love,
please,
take off that glove.
I want to feel you,
and only you:
And I want you
to feel me, too.
Don't stop.
Even if it kills me.
Not like I planned to live that long;
hit me and
keep on hitting.
It's the only thing
that thrills me.
Is that really so wrong?
And when you're tired,
weak,
worn,
and all done in:
Close the door and leave me here;
and go and gently
snuggle up to him.
And you know
I'll be here when you need me,
just like I've always been.
No metaphors here...