The Virgin
coconut oil smells less than those coco-stained
concoctions and empty oil-tainted bottles sprinting out
in irony's protrusion:
a newer version of virginity lies outside the colliding points
an hour forms in two-minute breaks, an orgy-like stature
of which my god feels itself amid blasphemies and antithesis
to which the very essence of this deity i no longer memorize,
feels the first sprint of blood in this last abrupt tint
of feeling
concoctions and empty oil-tainted bottles sprinting out
in irony's protrusion:
a newer version of virginity lies outside the colliding points
an hour forms in two-minute breaks, an orgy-like stature
of which my god feels itself amid blasphemies and antithesis
to which the very essence of this deity i no longer memorize,
feels the first sprint of blood in this last abrupt tint
of feeling
Labels: Sylvia Plath
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