You used to cover your mouth and blush
At my ability to be frank and scathingly honest
It was not a quality and you were not an admirer
Yours was the shamefacedness I didn’t feel
Whilst you, were a well of loneliness
A secret not to be discovered.
When did I become
A crass innuendo girl?
The kind I’d be ashamed of
Was it the first time you turned away?
Or removed my seeking hand?
Or the fiftieth?