12-31-2023, 05:01 AM
Deflowering
There is no sacred first, the second burns
with equal heat and more control. The third’s
a graceful dance: follow, then lead and turn
the bed into a saddle, tickling spurs.
In a massage parlour above a bar,
a lonesome youth uses twenty seconds
of his thirty minute purchase. The stars
are blocked by clouds again, darkness beckons.
A dandelion shed its seeds, the stem
lies limp across the grass. Below the earth
the roots hold fast, in spring a yellow gem
erupts again, a sunlit green rebirth.
There is no sacred first, the second burns
the third into a fourth, the fifth still learns.
There is no sacred first, the second burns
with equal heat and more control. The third’s
a graceful dance: follow, then lead and turn
the bed into a saddle, tickling spurs.
In a massage parlour above a bar,
a lonesome youth uses twenty seconds
of his thirty minute purchase. The stars
are blocked by clouds again, darkness beckons.
A dandelion shed its seeds, the stem
lies limp across the grass. Below the earth
the roots hold fast, in spring a yellow gem
erupts again, a sunlit green rebirth.
There is no sacred first, the second burns
the third into a fourth, the fifth still learns.