First He Comes for Me

I was once loved and loving,
honest and free.
Sometimes knowing and sometimes known, but always
careful in my giving and taking.

But doubts crept into my young heart.
In exchange for a man's pure attention, I spread my gifts
without thought of costs or pain. Do I still seek the
love of my father?

I feel the eyes of a girl much like me
piercing the walls of this sanitized
hotel room. There is panic in her eyes.

Her father's eyes are kind, and his
touch is tender as we join together to break
vows he pledged before my birth.

I imagine his wife preparing a meal and
waiting for his arrival. She pours a glass of
wine and tastes it, dry red as he prefers.
She smiles.

I lean forward and try to whisper
that he won’t be late for dinner,
but first he comes for me.