It was a perfect sunny day in June
the day our fourteen-year-old fingers met,
our palms lined with a thin barrier of sweat,
under the Hyde Creek Bridge that afternoon.
After skipping rocks, we sat on the ridge
and Bobby granted my most desired wish
when he offered me my very first kiss
that afternoon under the Hyde Creek Bridge.
With his tender hand just under my chin,
(and my heart doing cartwheels in my chest)
he pressed his lips against mine and I sighed.
His tongue flicked my tongue, like an expert, he grinned.
"Was that your first kiss?" He accurately guessed.
"Of course that wasn't my first time," I lied.