Virgins Plus Curtains Minus Dots

Latin Borghese

Houses hold virgins
The door's on the chain

" Plumb streets with hearts"
" Bore curtains with eyes"

Virgins without dots
Stare beyond probability

See the men pass
Their hats are not ours
We take a walk
They are going somewhere
And they may look everywhere
Men's eyes look into things
Our eyes look out

A great deal of ourselves
We offer to the mirror
Something less to the confessional
The rest to Time
There is so much Time
Everything is full of it
Such a long time

Virgins may whisper
" Transparent nightdresses made all of lace"
Virgins may squeak
" My dear I should faint"
Flutter . . . . . flutter . . . . flutter . . . .
. . . . " And then the man — "
Wasting our giggles
For we have no dots

We have been taught
Love is a god
White with soft wings
Nobody shouts
Virgins for sale
Yet where are our coins
For buying a purchaser
Love is a god
Marriage expensive
A secret well kept
Makes the noise of the world
Nature's arms spread wide
Making room for us
Room for all of us
Somebody who was never
a virgin
Has bolted the door
Put curtains at our windows
See the men pass
They are going somewhere

Fleshes like weeds
Sprout in the light
So much flesh in the world
Wanders at will

Some behind curtains
Throbs to the night
Bait to the stars
Spread it with gold
And you carry it home
Against your shirt front
To . . . . . . . a shaded light
With the door locked
Against virgins who
Might scratch.
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