You took my clothes off, years ago,
and lay beside me on the bed.
But I, being shy (no words were said),
demurely turned the lights down low.
I wanted you, but still I was
embarrassed by the feral wet
between my legs; the dewy sweat
that wrapped me in its liquid gauze.

My first touch was devoid of grace:
the timid way I stroked your dick
(all bark-hard menace, yet so slick
my fingers skittered to its base
where native fluency took hold).
It crept up unannounced; how much
the stilted, childish way I’d touched
turned deft – and made my movements bold;

to weigh your balls and sense your pulse,
and in response you licked my skin.
This fed, not doused, the fire within;
the heat that said, There’s no-one else.
I wanked your hard-on’s sticky head
and whispered reckless, dirty words,
I want your cock. I knew you’d heard –
your torso twitched at what I’d said.

Your tongue excised the chance to think,
My breathing shrank to tiny sighs.
And there, between fresh-opened thighs,
you slid on me, a skating rink.
How sunlight-warm and soft you were
(the hardness stayed between your hips),
When you moved up, I licked your lips
to mine the salty sweetness there

Everything that I’d repressed
broke free to send me wild that night.
I reached across, turned up the light 
to watch my nipples rasp your chest.
My arms and shining legs yawned wide,
as your cock stuttered up my thigh.
My shameless shiver of surprise
when, finally, you lurched inside

But – oh – it was so fractured when
we started fucking. Could not last:
so firestorm-hot it was, so fast,
so close to being complete, then –

so quick, you
came it was too
sweet and I came too;
I drowned in you

You were the first to nest your seed
inside of me. (Back then who knew
one day you’d slice my heart in two?)
That night we lay and breathed
and love imbued our atmosphere.
All this a hundred years ago;
or feels that way, as these things do
when part of me still wants you here.