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