Hurt

You pulled my hair, left bite marks
and handprints on my skin and
left my sore all over, but it was
a good kind of pain.
It was the kind of pain you
yearn for the second
it begins to heal.
Honestly, I didn't mind
the markings either,
they showed that I was yours
and yours alone.
So unlike the markings on
my heart, the scars of all
the other men who had hurt
me, not out of love,
not out of pleasure,
but out of hatred and malice.
So, know, when I tell you that
pulling my hair doesn’t hurt
and that I like it when you leave
your markings on my skin it is true,
because the pain you inflict
on me comes from a place of love
and that could never hurt me.