That Girl

Never the same the second time. Boy thinks back on the one who took it
- a truth held tight in, a pearl between herself, safe. She doesn't
even know. (Or did she?) Pleasurable uncertainties, awake in bed. On
his back. Ogling into the space between bed and ceiling. Who will you
dream of tonight boy? How will you hold the girls you haven't met? Will
the women of your manhood wonder who she was? The beginning. Can you
hold them tighter for your trust in her? Do they owe her thanks even?
That distant, unfaded memory. And when your wife asks what she looked
like, What will you say?
Lie to her. A meaningless lie. Change her hair color. Or the sound of
her voice. It will mean nothing. And everyone will be safe.

by Len Shaffer