Eighteen, and in a Hotel

In flat, restless sleep,
Two beds,
Four girls,
Our dreamless breath,
Swaying the silky down
On the crooks of
Each others' necks.
I bubble to waking.

From the other bed,
Crisp hushed voices,
Unlike the sluggish warmth,
Of the breath behind me.

He's coming.

A male presence,
Hard and driving,
Coming in quest,
Covertly to our
Soft, downy nest.
I hardly believe my ears.

Door open, sword of light,
The tightly coiled warrior
Takes soft hushed-voice
By the hand,
To the sofa bed in the next
Room.
By the hand, I'm told,
He spilled his seed.

But all I hear,
In silent anger,
Dark and brooding,
The rustling of sheets,
Soft wet parting skin,
As tightly coiled springs
Release,
When pressed.

The invasion left,
Assuaged,
Before the blush of
Dawn,
And never did the
Breath on my neck
Waver.
But I, I knew the
Cheap dishonor,
The steamy hardening
Of youthful hearts,
Before time could
Ripen them.

What a waste.

Month later, she cries,
Her body bathed in blood,
From her warrior's careless
Weapon.