Sacred Curiosity

In a quiet moment of sacred curiosity,
she approached him—
the unknown,
the untouched,
the unlearned.

With hands trembling
like leaves in a winter wind,
she undressed him,
each fold of cloth a secret
flowering into the light.

She was a young explorer,
finding artifacts of flesh
and whispers of pulse,
proofs of an existence
beyond what she’d imagined.

Her mother had warned her of
places that eyes should not see,
that hands should not reach.

But the world was hers now
tangible in the swelling in desire.  
The truth of their nakedness was louder than the
silence and sadness of not knowing.