Returning virgins, each sunrise renews
our chastities and longings, each day brings
its unfamiliar news: our wedding rings
remain unworn, the surnames that we use
remain unchanged, our bed not yet selected.
Remaining virgins, each day’s end reminds
us love is difficult but worth the pain;
a smear across the sky, the sunset stain
of blood and lymph and bodies, words, and minds,
of wounds we choose, of other lives rejected.
If you were here, of course, you’re never here,
but if you were, we might have kissed; we might
have fought; we might have made a few things clear;
we might have lost two virgins to the night.