Do I dare count the men
Who have slithered between my legs?
Is “What’s your number?” just a possible question
Or is it a question that begs?

Do I dare add merit to fluid actions
That ripples through life’s ebb?
Or will such an answer create disruption?
Will it wrestle with my head?

And if this is so, do I have a duty
To answer this knocking question?
Am I neglecting, truly,
A responsibility privilege presented?

Can I face this number without hurt?
Is it truly unimportant?
Or with it will I uncover a sting?
Will I unveil undue torment?

Curiosity rears its head
Maybe years from now I will face it
But for now I fear that I’m much too vulnerable
Granted its importance was merely created

I am just as curious as the man who created
The importance of such summing
But his legacy is much too strong for me
Through shallow eyes
Such as mine
It will endow me *unbecoming.