your words
coated with cyanide
burn me
as does your touch
buti love
the smell of
scorched skin and
smoke permeates the
air. perfumed
by pain (a
form of pleasure) it
reeks of abuse and
enslavement.
my body (and heart)
chained to the fact
that you care.
that’s the only thing
ihave to hold
onto, andi dread
the day my grip
weakens.