‘strip myself to death’ she said
like the act of
taking off offending materials
was a crime
punishable by loss of virtue

‘impressions of whips’ she said
unfairly,
with her eyes locked in mine
giving me no choice but
to unschackle my imagination

my lips ran dry
as she talked of a body
full of shame.

my kiss seared hers,
as I lay down my scheme
my lies.

My blood boils for this.

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