Whisper words like “virgin” and watch
as images dance through their minds
of white satin gloves,
of innocent deer,
of crystal clear glass.
Write it on my i.d. or social,
but leave it off my nametag, please,
for I am a virgin,
but I am not white, am not
satin, am not
How many men have held these hands?
And how many odes
have said hands written?
How many times have I
handed my heart
How many men have held my love handles?
How many bodies have handled my breasts? All the
best of my dreams have starred so many different
have had so many hopes in far
too many up’s,
and I am too short now to
get them all down. I am
I cannot place hopes anywhere,
for I have placed them everywhere-
My hope is shattered, wind-blown glass.
I am no satin,
no deer. I am