my choice in lovers failed me.
I wished to be scorched, fêted,
beaten. Yes, beaten, while held
in place by the upper arm.
I could prove my devotion.
But the men I loved were exquisite
in their refusal to say,
I feel, I love, I want you
bent like this. They were floes
of cyan ice, full of secret life
and devastation. Why did I believe.
What was there to learn.
Love without suffering—
this wasted my talents.
Because I Was Protestant
Love without suffering / this wasted my talents

The Desire and the Satisfaction - Jan Toorop / WikiArt