Virgin In Her 20's

You are not the hegemonic inspiration

in whose light my face bathes.

Mirror the

hand to base in hand

again.

Your name cannot boast the

property of my countenance,

but is relieved to sulk

in corners of a

grin it did not

sire.

Your name sprouts no

longer upon the threshing floor.

A thing with an unrobbable

life. Now

humbled and unremarkable at my feet. 

Something I step out of.