He was a prince, my first one
with eyes that laughed at once
he dragged me down, without a sound
into a teenage dance.

Brand new awe and wonder
of hearts and fragile breath
he swept up glass, I fell fast
he caught me close to death.

Softly voiced his sentiment
kissed in dashboard glow
faded jeans, stripped and lean
of course, I didn't know.

That when first love comes calling
there is no precedent
upon the heart, to be that smart
or kick up sediment.

From bitter-ended failings
or "old enough to know"
the slate is clean, and free to dream
into the fire we go.

He had a buried sadness
a secret carried weight
young life horror, so mine he'd borrow
to use as guiding light.

A well-worn, sickened fever
shamed him to the core
but made him sweet and fragile
and made me love him more.

He danced me to a cliff-top
to jump had he so bidden
he told me things, of diamond rings
and knew where they were hidden.

I could not conceive of daylight
less that fringed and suntanned boy
came to arrive, at half-past five
and I would be so coy.

But there was no put-on acting
modesty not false
his dusty jeans, their old smooth seams
quickening my pulse.

I knew little of desire
of seduction, not a shred
but from his hands, I bear the brands
of how I make my bed.

Then, one day I knew it over
he'd told me he would fly
when he'd gone, I got on
with the if's and but's and why.

Of why he didn't want me
if I'd been "the one"
but age and time have proven
that the best was yet to come.