Even when it burns every bud on his tongue,
He still licks the traces of sorrow from her paled lips,
There are times that her touch sends his heart on a treacherous spiral,
Yet no palpitation can stop his hands from dipping into her shorts,
And when the driving sound of his name escapes from her mouth,
The vibration against his eardrum keeps him on top of her.

He is pained by this sickness that is her,
Something that she sees in his milky brown eyes,
The ailment he has is loving through the damage she’s attained,
From all of the chauvinists before him,
And though she knows some of his moaning comes from bearing this hurt,
She cannot help but dig her red polished nails into the small of his back.