The first few sips were the hardest.
Between the taste and the guilt,
I cringed, running away from
my problems the only way I knew how.

It took a few more to overcome
the burning, expired cough syrup taste
of the stolen alcohol from the thermos
hidden in a ****** box.

I felt my innocence tremble when
I called you down.

When my heart raced,
I had forgotten about it.
When you kissed me
in my brother's room
(my first, just another for you)
my innocence broke.

It was almost out of view,
a tiny dot along the horizon line,
the moment your hand ran down
my side and I shivered.

One last glance in the rear view mirror,
and it had vanished,
as you rolled on top of me,
lying skin to skin.

But the insant I grasped reality,
understanding what was about
to happen, in my big brother's bed,
my innocence won, saving me
from endless regret and rumors in the halls.

The innocence that I had never
before cared about,
the innocence I was trying to rid
myself of, won as it
put my hand on your chest, breathed your name,
and asked you stop.