As a virgin, I envisioned
sex as some veiled secret,
corresponding body parts
willing themselves to interlock
under cover of darkness,
cool mechanics beneath a shroud.

I wanted to bring my shame to wear
as clothing over my nakedness,
command your eyes not to see
what I couldn't bear to look
upon myself, a mirror-breaking
form better left in the black.

Now, with innocence hanging on
the wall, held up by coffin nails,
you put your hands on me with
all the confidence of a man
who knows where he is going.

Every light in the room blazing,
I am shameless, maybe even
proud, a thing doing what
it was born to, not perfect,
but at least not unsatisfied.

02/24/2004

Author's Note: Another writing.com slam poem. The prompt was lights on/lights off, and aside from some sarcastic wax on/wax off, and clap on/clap off thoughts, this is what the prompt brought to mind. Worked out sort of well, I think.

Posted on 02/24/2004
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