Emma Winsor Wood


Sex has scarred me forever:
the carpet in the basement of the chapel
scraped my spine dappled,
i.e. pain, the ruler against which I measure
all pleasure, notched my body
into his split tally
that I might carry
w/ in me his copy:
eyes black as pupils, condom, bloodied,
the twinge transformed,
perfection mourned...
Out out damned you know—the muddied
etc. is our lot.
Later he told me he...Well, yeah, whatever, it was an afterthought.