The Things Done In Private

Scarlet tears trickle down

The sheath of my alabaster skin,

Gathering in vermillion florettes

On the ground beneath

While my body twists and flexes

To produce awkward angles,

Un-natural for a woman.

Agonies burst out loudly;

I pray no one hears my shame

As the last reserves of female modesty

Rattle through the walls.

Between glimmers of pain, I ask:

Is he worth this torturous act

Or shall this be the last time

I shave my legs for him?

Reviews

[Anita B Jacques]

Very good, worried while I'm reading, bleeding to death or something else, better left unsaid.Your last stanza was a beauty, thank you for the laugh, a good write my friend, thank you.

[Eagle Cruagh]

Sorry !
I always heard it was agony, but I never understood
until I read your poem.
Geeeezz !
Poor, sweet girl---- cutting every little curl.
The twist at the end brings your poem in to abrupt
and clever focus.
Funny !
I love it------BRILLIANT !

------ Eagle Cruagh