The Virgin

The first time, she thought, would be different to this,
As she zipped up the hole in her pride.
It was curiosity, the bitch, who’d killed her cat,
As with a wince she’d let him inside.

He’d smiled with businessman bliss when she’d agreed to the deal and hand became fist in glove.
She cried inside while he smiled his lies and endured his torturous love,
A jumble of groans was all that they shared as he discharged his commitment as dog does to tree,

Before lying alone.
Like mongrel with bone.
His dribbling anxiety free.

Smothered in covers she searched for her mother,
As her every sense screamed for sleep,
But her perfect planned life trickled away,
As her broken heart stained white sheets.