Losing The Game

The door slams shut and

I'm back against the wall,

bottom lip bit to bleeding and his fingertips leave addictive traces of flame

like the lighter underneath a smoldering bent metal spoon.

I tell him to leave the needles somewhere I won't see them because

it already takes determination to let his hands

shiver on my skin.

He's already breathless,

and I haven't done anything

to deserve it

but he calls me beautiful

and I lose control.