Feel this as I fix clothespins to the skin
around each nipple. A halo of small
wooden teeth pinching. I’ve left hickeys, twin
love bites, before. I’m greedy. I’d suck all
of your breast into my mouth if I could.
Instead I -flick- each tip until they rise
above the clothespins -flick- this pain is good
-flick- the kind we beg for to make our thighs
shake. I can feel, between your thighs, your lips
part as I place a clothespin on the hood
of your clit and then twist. You could say no
if you wanted; stop this pain in the tips
of your breasts, in your drunken clit. You could.
Instead you burn: like anarchy but slow.