It isn’t the wedding ring
She twists when she twists
The man around her finger
Gold glittering at intervals
Like the lash of a whip strike
Each twist tormenting him
Tightening him from inside out
Grinding flesh and bone
Until he resembles a taunt
Rubber band
How far can she twist him
Before he breaks?
How much pain will he endure
While still crying out for more?
Gold turning to fire until
He burns out, and she, yawning
Reaches for another man
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