(no subject)

[simpatica]

i don't know for sure
do you enjoy those marks?
the bruises you say
are a source of pride?
how can he touch that
fair, fancy skin so hard
demanding he has control
the evidence of his path
pressed across the
soft flesh of your chest
your shoulders and arms
translucent once, and amid
the spotless, his green-brown
prints dance on
younger still, creeping to
some dark corner, meditate
to sleep, moaning with sudden
surprise, your bruise is
a choice, your road to bliss
traced there on your chest