do your fingers try to get me high?
touches like heroine as you pull up my skirt
I know the bruises aren't meant to hurt
at the end of our affair, at the end of the night
all I have are imprints of your teeth on my thigh
how much energy I can continue to exert
with feelings in such disconcert?
if only you also wished to be mine...
this is the beginning of a sonnet