"How the memory of her sluttish face"

Using the sublime poetic form of the sonnet to express something quite ugly and repugnant--being tricked into losing my virginity to a common, deceitful s**t.

How the memory of her sluttish face

disgusts me. What on earth was I thinking?

My time lost in her sickening embrace

was loathsome, rank, gross, foul, vile and stinking.

O why gave I myself to one so whorish?

(I know why. But it's pointless.) Young, naive

and mislead, I failed to divine her game--

so hell-bent was I to casually receive

her. In hindsight, I would undo the past

and live forevermore as a virgin,--

pure! In that there's no shame. Oh, but the waste

of not waiting was my too fatal sin!

      Since love most foul came at such terrible price,

      I'll not repeat this error--not even twice.