There were times when I thought
For sure
That the feast of reality,
An all-you-can-eat buffet for the senses,
Was surely a mirage
In the thirsty desert of my cloudless mind.
Sometimes,
All I could do was lick my lips,
Rub my hands and scheme
Because it seemed
Too good
To be true.

I called your name
Once or twice;
The first time to see if you were there
And the second
Because I liked the way it tasted
On my insatiable teenaged pallet.
At first, it tasted like cheap ***:
A sweet burn,
But enough to draw out the fine
Delicate strands of truth.
One kiss:
I'm fine.
Two:
The gears are loosened.
Three and I suppose the rest
Is history.

I am no lightweight,
But the words went straight to my head
And I am warm now--
Warm the way thieves are
When they steal
Supper,
Warm the way nuns are
When they smoke their
Cigarettes.
Warm because it's the idea
That something so wrong
Is now a basic necessity.



It's not so wrong, though.