Long after the welts
have crusted
and the black blue bruises
have faded,
I simmer
gold and amber,
with the longing
to hold that whip
tightly
in my feeble hands
its razor claws
hungry
to gnaw
as my lips
quiver with the delight
of biting back
a guilty smile
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem