April, 2026

The 80 year old virgin
Needed quite the shove
Though it’s true that she had known of men
This time it seemed like love.

It’s quite a tender story
I’m not sure of where to start
But if you asked our heroine
She’d say it was her heart

Or if she’d really let you know
She’d make mention of the gate
The one that yielded down below
On occasions that she’d mate

And there were all the offspring
Numbers one, two, three, and four
And physical penetration
Both in and out the door

But still the sense that this was new
Pervaded her whole being
In ways they say that once blind folk
Newly report they’re seeing

It started in a yoga class
The sense that this was new
For even those of 80 years
Can see they’re not quite through.

A tingling I think she’d say
In parts that long lay still
An opening of her heart and thighs
Quite vigorous and shrill

A pounding of the vesicles
An awakening of the senses
I’m sure you know at eighty years
She long since had her menses

She’d said goodbye to thoughts of love
She’d music as her passion
But this was more than notes or wishes
This wakening of her mind and fissures

A quickening to the words and deeds
That spoke of hopes and parted weeds
She said she’d never felt or known
The ways she’d laugh and how she’d moan

It’s all quite new, exciting, fresh
The joys she felt in mind and flesh.
Take me, she said, though surely shy
I’ve left clay soils, I’m flying high
I’m frightened – sure
Of course that’s true
But this is real, these feelings new.

I never felt such passion or urges
Nor sought relief from shrinks or sages
I just accepted this as fate
And I was sure it was too late
To think of love in quite this way
As to her virgin heart she’d say
I love my kin, I’ve let men in
But here I am, it isn’t sin
I’ve throw away all fear and guilt
I lay quite open on his quilt.