With objectification reserved for my fetish, Tiring of the need was the only salvo. When I first forayed into pain as a cure-- An accelerant with an seductive allure-- I needed it like a drug, although The thought of it made you squeamish. You gave me exactly what I wanted, Something you wouldn’t choose on your own-- Pushing boundaries of pain-shaped skin, You submitted and were made again. Hard to soft and flesh to bone You bore my harsh caresses undaunted. But partnering me became a chore That your dear flesh chose not to endure.