I should’ve known the way you warmed your palms
against my back that you would kiss me, but at least your trembling
lips covered the hesitancy of mine, tortured into timidity
by the guy who pushed himself into me demanding
that I like it. You touched me with a reverence I didn’t deserve
as I remained tangled in reservations of certain caresses, positions,
and the possible suggestion of *** in my bed. You nestled your chin

in the curve of my neck instead and while you slept on the prospect
of contentment, I cried for trust you would expect from me, a wrecked
reject **** victim who believed that maybe she was a tease who would continue to displease any man willing to lay her. I made you leave
when I saw the sun’s rays, but relief didn’t stay behind.