Virgin Boys

photocredit- pinterest

Virgin boys still breathe,

they sit in back of cars and buses with ignorance so edible,

looking like preys ready to be feast upon by predators.

Faces so fluorescent,

tiny beams of anxiety flowing down like anointing.

Virgin boys still breathe,

they watch their friends tell tales of Jericho hymens they brought down.

Every broken wall is a trophy, too sad they’re yet to win any.

Are they too young to,

or yet unarmed for these fleshy bricks?

Virgin boys still breathe,

they walk with ears tucked into love songs,

starring at backsides that call through whispers

wondering of treasures that make fellow boys

wander in  these caves that bleed ecstasy.

Virgin boys still breathe,

 some doubtful,

some behind web addresses,

some steadfast,

some lost as we speak.