My mother passed down
your 18 carat pinky ring.
An heirloom showpiece.
Thick-built manly thing
boasting a square-cut garnet
that crowned dead center.
But I sold the gold
to an old fogey
at a curio shop.
He pressed and pushed
his thumb clean through
the rear end
until the gem broke free.
Then dropped
your popped cherry
in my palm for keeps.