if only I had known you were a virgin"
boy, for so long I blamed myself for your dyslexia
you fixated your eyes, misreading the sanskrit writings on my skin
as you pressed in you waited for my moans
that came only in winces
no. I didn't come yet
no. I didn't come at all
but you asked me, "how good does it feel?"
more times than you asked, "darling, may I?"
you never called me darling, I would've liked that
but you liked that ass, making sure it felt so good
so you could feel you'd compensated me for your climax
virgin or not, a man wouldn't have touched me
my body, the sacred training-ground of his praise
not a cheap, backseat thrill, a medicine man remedy
satisfied only with offerings of blood and innocence
medicine man, you can't make penance to my body
by touching my body, that you hurt, asking me still,
"how good does it feel?" when I wanted to say,
"stop trying to earn your forgiveness,
it's already given."
you prove that the only part of you that's a man
thinks that hands can heal the open wounds you caused
I let you back in, giving you a chance to say,
"no. I cherish you." but somehow I knew
you still needed me to carry you
giving me a good time won't give back what you took
so why don't you take another look at what
you could've had, take a moment to be sad that even if
you wised up, no matter how much of me you
think you fill, you will never feel my trust again
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