Stale soap, old walls, distant memory

find its way into repressed spaces

left alone through years of living-

I was innocent once

when twice intrusive faces

burned images in places

where innocence flourish,

salted ground left in twisted

vines growing into who I am.

I was innocent once

young fingers not meant to explore

soft petals, a sacrifice lamb

for gods of lust and pleasure.

Do you remember before?

Sometimes in dreams I can

and then wonder,

if I was innocent once.



“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”
Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard