Virgin






You question how
some can resume immediately
in a grand gesture
as if nothing is wrong
or different,


that fear doesn't sleep between,
that scars don't hurt,
that disease doesn't toss and turn
and pull the covers off,
that death doesn't dream,
that it isn't painful to be held closely,


or that when you don't look down
the swelling from the lymph
feels like a breast,
that you say you're fine
but don't mean it,
and you sleep in a bra


because nothing is the same,
everything is different.
It did happen.
Only maybe it doesn't really matter


in the dark
with eyes closed,
or maybe it really is too cold
to sleep naked. 
But you wait


and start over, a virgin
conscious of hands in
deliberate foreplay,
with lower caresses.
The lights stay out
until you find that you are more 
than flesh and bone.


You heal
the fragile layers of your self
from the inside out
until nothing is missing.
But something has changed.
You don't roll over
and go to sleep, but close your eyes
and in your mind
jump for joy.





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