If we could speak like Wolves by Kim Moore
if I could wait for weeks for the slightest change in you, then each day hurt you in a dozen different ways, bite heart-shaped chunks of flesh from your thighs to test if you flinch or if you could be trusted to endure, if I could rub my scent along your shins to make you mine, if a mistake could be followed by instant retribution and end with you rolling over to expose the stubble and grace of