For him you will learn guilt, shame,
find yourself prevaricating for the first time
on subjects you thought you knew--
is this right? is this pain? is this real?--
and you will stumble. He will teach you
loss and lust, and how to feel both
simultaneously. What of yourself
do you lose for that unabashed desire?
(You cannot name it but you
sense its exodus, smell the burning off
of that sap from your blood.)
For him you will relearn how to speak
and be spoken to, how to run
as though you aren't practiced at escape,
how to make innocent eyes
from below him on the mattress.
You will hand over something more
entrenched than anything you've given away
before; the wrench of it will stretch
from your mouth to your cunt,
your gut will ache for its return--
is it love? is it trust? is it youth?--
and you will never be able to assess
its value. He will throw you
like shadows on the wall, the embers of you
will light up the space between
your mouths like summertime. For him
you will flush like a child, rebuked
by his silence for your faith,
but you will follow him to worship
every time, eyes wide, mouth shut.