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
a deer.

I am

such very
stained
glass.

How many men have held these hands?
And how many odes
have said hands written?
How many times have I
handed my heart
away?

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
persons.

I

have had so many hopes in far
too many up’s,
and I am too short now to
get them all down. I am
small.

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

such very
stained
glass.