We stumbled up the stairs, two drunken fools ~
too high and loose of care, to my tiny apartment.
You fumbled with the keys and I stood, laughing
as you dropped them, not once, but three times
before you finally got the door opened.

Once inside, you pulled out your bowl
and I hurried into the kitchen to get beer.
Upon returning, Nascar screeched from the tv screen
as I tripped over your hiking boots, falling into your lap,
beer sloshing about us and herb scattering about.

You began tickling me in that cousinly way
we always played in our youth. You knew
each spot to make me twist and turn, scream and yelp.
But neither of us expected the kiss.

Lips searching, tongues darting, teeth nibbling ~
I ripped at your tank top, pulling it over your head
and buried my head in your chest, stroking
strong muscles, ******* your *******.

You grabbed my *******, kneading them fiercely,
your fingers twisting and tugging at my *******,
as you bit into the side of my neck. Moans
escaped us as you pulled me down onto the couch.

I gazed up into the mirrors of your eyes,
so like mine, searching your face for a sign:
Should we? Can we? Will anyone else find out
our secret taboo? Your lips erased the questions.