Bruises

The purples and blues adorning my neck and chest invite knowing smiles and scandalized glances.
But they can't see anything past the neckline of my dress.
They don't see the dark violet splotches that rest on my canvas skin, your art is the most beautiful I've seen.
No one hears how I beg for your hand at my throat, your sure grip a kindness, inviting me to lose control.
Your strong voice commanding me, reducing me to lust and need, banishing all thought.
You are all soft and kindness and gentle touches until we're in the bedroom.
I wish I didn't have to hide the pretty things you leave behind.
I always want to feel your love
In the twinge in the muscles of my legs
In the hoarseness of my voice
In the soreness of my body
So that when you are not with me you are.
So I may remember that I am loved, worshiped, adored.