My body is a poem under revision

There’s a hair growing on my vulva
white and strong it must have
escaped the hot wax. I try
to pluck it out and decide against it. Right away
my body remembers the tickling
sensation, deeply satisfying in its pain.
While I’m at it I once again wonder why
my pussy lips are fully covered almost as if
they hid inside a closed blossom. Or am I mistaken?
Has it always been that way? Time does strange things.
You’re not doing this for me are you? I hear
my lover say with an alarmed expression
on their face. What if? But fret not. My body
is a poem under revision, it revises itself.
Once in a while I get it out, I look gently
at the lines that changed. Someone should’ve
told me though: there are so many
bodies in one. Someone
should’ve told me: there is so much
pleasure in an old body.

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