I slept with one of my teachers in high school.

We used to barter with fleeting, salty kisses
behind the musty curtain of the old auditorium.

The whiskers he'd been shaving since I was seven
always chaffed my chin a little. In a good way.

We coated ourselves in sputtered dust under the stage
when we were supposed to be building the set for 'Annie'.

He would cradle my thighs in his think hands
and slowly peel the clothes away.

He put me on top
of the chorus' baby grand
and made love to me like I was grown

Because,

I was the eyelash swimming in his retina
and he couldn't look away.

Until snickering waves of adultery
swept around the room
and made the springs
of the folding chairs
squeak.

I felt the electric panic ripple through his body
before it pooled in his eyes
and dripped down his face like syrup.