the masochist

You in your shirt like a second skin, a paper valentine tacked on your sleeve, a flimsy advertisement — shall I seize your collar or pull your hair, shall I rip seams asunder or bite buttons and tear, shall I claw your back or pound your breast, shall I force your moan or still your breath — just to hold you close, oh I don’t dare, just to hear your heart beat, oh you wouldn’t care, if I wring you dry, and leave you rent, will you let me kiss your fingertips?

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