My special nights.
Had no fights.
Zero feeling like dirt.
Or having a sore butt.
On those rare nights.
We left on the lights.
I could see his scars.
Then imaginary stars.
His touch alone.
Would sweetly atone.
For previous blows.
Which denied me glow.
He used whispers.
To give me blisters.
And it was always better.
Over abusive lecture.
It was quite addictive.
A bit destructive.
I badly wanted to quit.
But he was my flirt.
He took advantage.
Became some savage.
Yet my soul was sold.
Until I shook off his hold.
[Pixabay}(pixabay.com)
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Thank you for coming.
It's a very beautiful poem
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