Consent

Lips on cheeks,
fingers in hair,
hands on hips,
floating on air.

Fingers caressing,
butterfly feelings,
ideas of loving
sound so appealing.

One is not ready
and feels alone.
She says, “I think
it’s time to go home.”

“Not now, not yet,”
the other replies,
gripping her wrists
as down they lie.

She doesn’t want to
be touched, undressed.
But frozen in fear
as on her, they’re pressed.

Isn’t this normal?
Isn’t this right?
Doesn’t she want this?
So why doesn’t she fight?

And when she leaves,
body all sore,
she doesn’t fight back
against the hug at the door.

back to Breakthrough

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *