The pain you give makes my head spin,
takes my breath like a quick cold snap.
Who taught you to carve in my skin?
The marks meander like a map.
The way your eyes light when I bleed–
like you could tear my flesh apart.
Who knew you were so predatory?
It echoes deep within my heart.
I need to yield as your quarry–
I’ll give my will, your ache to feed.
Decima Italiana: 10 line poem, 8 syllables per line, ababcdedec rhyme pattern.