My labia lips are like floppy rabbit ears.

The ears hang low;
They wobble to and fro.
I could tie them in a knot;
I could tie them in a bow.

My last boyfriend preferred to eschew this simile, in favour of his own.

“I love your labia lips, Jess” he assured me. He said that my vagina was like a pink rose.

“Have you ever seen inner petals that long? Longer than the outside petals?”

Overgrown petals deserve pruning.

*

“Rogers, Jessica?” The nurse calls.

As I walk behind her, I tell myself that this is the last time I will feel those ears rubbing and twisting together between my thighs with every step.

I lie on the operating table; the surgeon slices the overgrowth off with a laser scalpel. As he sews me up, he tells me that the recovery time is 48 hours and to wait for the stitches to dissolve before having sex again.

I ask the surgeon if he’d like to go on a date with me after my stitches dissolve. He declines.

*

At least I only sport bunny ears on my head now.

No more ears below,
only a hole.