Heavy-Skirted

I'd be impure with one touch.

Though I welcome it secretly,

I grip some white beacon

That has only become sacred

When other men looked at it.

Perhaps I will finally let go,

Finally let someone close enough,

To touch the forbidden thing,

Teach me to look at and love it,

And make me a real woman.

Yet the more I think of it,

The more my body trembles,

My brain begins to hyperfocus,

My imagination races and races

Into the possibilities of you and me

Both looking at the ground

To ignore the scars and mistakes

That decorate my birthday suit.

A part of me wants to stay this way,

Never touched, never exposed.

It is a lonely existence, though I know

Any exposing is a long way off,

As I can barely tell you that I like you,

Much less that I want you to have me,

To take the my hand in yours,

To wash the white from my dark skin,

And walk with me into adulthood.

A part of me wonders what happens

After you carry me over the threshhold,

And the newness of this life surrounds us.

My trust in you says you'll be there,

Letting my fear tense my palm around yours

Without a thought of pain or fear.

My fear in myself says I will be alone

In a ruined house that had long been left,

As you will eventually leave me,

Taking the token of my gratitude

And using it as a handkerchief.

Ther's no indication of any of that,

And yet, it's all I see when we talk.