Virgin

he kept them fragile

like butterfly wings

trapped beneath glass

he kept them hopeless

and fertile

always imagining

always dreaming

of the next big thing

a life lived

unencumbered

by his imagination

by his machinations

sweet bliss

beholden to no master

he kept them tight

tight enough

to keep them

close as bone

he wrapped them up

in petticoats of white

and called them “virgin”

spectacular classlessness

a careless renumeration

of past sins

what a shameful

abhoration

what a plausible explanation

together forever

for nothing

©️ E.B. Johnson 2018