Virginal

The first time I was touched

I didn’t know what it meant

I knew I knew

It was something wrong

A storm

through a broken

Wind chime

An old rhyme

The second time I was touched

I knew the word “molestation”

I knew I knew

The most dangerous words in the dictionary

Were “uncle”, “cousin”

Strange whispers whispered

While strangers touched little girls

In funny places

Little girls

Growing with a growing

Chip on their shoulder

With a growing fear

A terror of cold winds

A terror of the words

“It’s okay”

By the third time

I was a woman who walked through

Broken glass

Just so my lips looked the way

My chest felt

He kissed my lips with his fingertips

But it meant

Another dangerous caress

That lingers on my breath

The way the stench of guilt

Lingered on their flesh

The third time

sadly

It was real It was good

It was virginal

And I

I had forgotten how to feel

The touch of a man who wanted

Not chest my chest

But the stars inside

The third time

Was my first

And I bled tears

The way wrists bleed hope

When the knife touches the most

Vulnerable part of the skin

Thankfully

The third time

I finally learned that the closest

A woman gets to salvation

Is with lips on her neck

And the closest a man gets

To surrender

Is in orgasm