Vintage metal bowl with fresh ripe garden strawberries on wooden table with black textile. Dark rustic style. With copy space on top
I lost my virginity
to a stranger
I met on the beach.
He was French
and had a wandering eye.
No starry sky
no night blooming Jasmine
no dinner
just a bag of potato chips
some broken English
and a beat up old van
smelling of diesel
and cheap American beer.
He didn’t know
he was my first
or that I didn’t think
I could ever trust a man,
as we watched the sun
disappear
in the afterglow
of warm blood
and cold vinyl.
# # #
Lucienne Lane is a writer living in Los Angeles. She is a member of Los Angeles Poets & Writers Collective, and has been published in the Literary Journal FRE&D and East Jasmine Review.
Joy Mahar is an emergent writer living on the outskirts of Detroit. Her work has…
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