This Fever Poem by Lauren Michaels

His kiss,
When its given,
isn't gracious. Isn't careful.
His fist curls a tangle in my hair,
And bruises lurk beneath the skin
A sorry remembrance come morning,
of brute fingers and careless teeth.

It leaves me shaken.
And he follows it soon after
And I am left.
Telling myself never again
And reasoning,
'Would you listen to yourself'

And the shame is one thing.
The lust another.
They don't worry me so much.
Humans are weak after all
And this fever is nobody's business.

But that insistent girlish wondering.
That vile pervasive hope.
The clawing sensation of affection
Rising right out from my chest.

Oh I just know I can make him love me.
I'll open his eyes then he'll definitely see.
I never wanted this to be me.