It's among the letters i wrote for him
those kind he never read
the non-love letter kind
the one full on honesty
the one with hurt
it's among the poems i wrote for him
the one he heard me read
the love poem
the one which wears metaphors
the one which dress in layers
my love for him
sits at the tip of my tounge
soft, warm , wet
but my bite make it bleed
while waiting for his lips
i don't know if i'm a masochist or not
but my love for you hold hands with liberty
and steal kisses from sin
my love for you is unloyal
it cannot decide
between pleasure or pain