Innocence

Innocence is bliss.
Or is it ignorance?
Ignorance certainly is not bliss;
Ignorance to her own morals,
To her own beliefs
Above his.
Bliss was not the rush;
Hands on buttons and
Body on body
Your body is a temple
She was told one afternoon in
Sunday school.
Bliss was not those strong hands
Pushing and pulling and
Gripping and grabbing and
Slipping and slamming and
Those aren’t his hands
Anymore.
Bliss was not the hundred and forty pounds
Sweating on her new red blouse.
Bliss was not the content on his face
After he left his seed on her stomach.
Not for her, at least.
Bliss wasn’t even those over-used words
She has waited four months
To hear.
Because she knew what she had to give,
To receive,
Ignorance certainly is not bliss,
But is innocence?
I wouldn’t know.