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Caroline Feb 13
He was French,
And Moroccan,
“Pieds noir” they called him
In the streets of Toulouse,
“Black feet.”
The French can be crass like that,
But when he walked shyly over to where I sat,
I only noticed his eyes, like two warm cups of dark coffee,
And I wanted to take a sip.
The way he couldn’t speak English,
And so I tripped through my burgeoning fluency
In French, tinged with that accent so prominent in the south;
Endings of words extended, emphasized with a flippant
Toss of the head, like
“T’es tres mignonne, toi.
Tu veux aller te promener avec moi?”
Yeah, I blushed at that one and took his hand,
Yes, yes, I said, I would walk the streets and these
Endless sands of this fairy tale Mediterranean Eden
With you.
Down by the waters of Languedoc he told me,
“When you are not here, tu me manques,”
And later, holding my hands in an Algerian restaurant,
He finally said “je t’aime.”
And so, I decided I would give it all to him,
In the depths of the night near the river,
Garonne.
I gave this French boy with mahogany eyes,
The gift of my first time,
And I haven’t a single regret.
A true story of a magical spring and summer in France when I was just nineteen. I knew I would never see him again and I never did, but that hasn't dampened the magic of the memory.

Translations:
"T'es tres mignonne, toi. Tu veux aller to promener avec moi": You are very cute/sweet. Do you want to take a walk with me?

Tu me manques: I miss you.

Je t'aime: I love you.
Luis Valencia Dec 2018
it feels like thunder
the first time always feels that way
he takes me in his hands and i melt
my body is overheating
i try to suppress my pleasure
i'm afraid to make a sound  
he kisses me
his lips are hot to the touch
everything about this is burning
sweat drips from our skin
his hands are holding mine and im lost
im feeling everything im feeling pleasure
the thunder booms
and i yelp and pant
then lighting strikes
it blooms all around us
it raises the hair on our skin
it flashes so quickly
i begin to relax
i feel warmth all over me
the rain begins to fall
and he lays beside me
i grab his hands and kiss his palms
the rain softens
and he pulls me closer
only he can create a storm inside my body
A tribute to the first time.
Red Brush Dec 2018
Clumsy fingertips
Tremble in the dark.
Quivering, our lips
Kiss each birthmark.
Each firmly grips,
Passion's bright spark.
Night's youthful slips,
Memories deep mark.
Those moments that etched memories sweet...
Ross Lopez Dec 2018
New
Blood on the bedsheets.
A flood in my head beats
     Fast.
It was a first for both of us
There was soft bodies
And sweaty palms
And emotion
     At last.
jbui Dec 2018
he lifted my shirt as his cool touch buried me beneath a lover
a lover, i must gravitate towards serenity and sensual acts
acts, messy yet innocent; reeling me in for more
more, i want more, i crave what i bound to give
i give him, something for no returns
impossibilities have peaked, clean and unforgiving.
Brynn S Nov 2018
Lying in nights true form
I saw you beneath me; the bees began to swarm
Tasting the trails of where finders have lead
Ecstasy leaning to worlds untread
Marks to deliver such sweet sound
Pounding hearts beat as movements confound
Show to me this sweet child of night
What lips have shown each chase cause me fright
I shutter under melodies of hot cress
oh darling you have pocessed my breath
Arches and bones have created your path
Lead me to the promise land and show no wrath
Curves sway as the seas begin to crash
Meet me at the high point, watch it thrash

Dear somber veil
Intertwine the wreaths forming moaned laurels
Little by little each touch shows quarrels
frivolous children under satin minds
Laced with faucets, wax, and rinds
my first time was in his bed
this senior that i knew
he said he was a ******
i knew it wasn’t true
he carried me to his room
trying to be romantic
it just made me more nervous
telling me im pretty would've been a better tactic
he said he would go gentle, but he got carried away
it was the worst pain i ever felt
afterwards he just let me lay
there sore and feeling broken
i’m sure you can guess that ever since, we’ve barely spoken
it was a rough night
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
Oh, how I delight in the taste
     of my lover’s scent
     as she cries out my name!
In my arms, a slender orchid
     worshiped to soft placidity,
     she murmurs
     do I still yearn for my virginity?  
And I whisper, my love,
     ten thousand times
     ten thousand times, no.

For what we tender feel in lost virginity
     is not for lost virginity alone
Not for a shred of skin or a drop of blood;
     what human being mourns this?
That small ***** we feel
     is the eternal mortality
     of all lost first experiences.
Then let us thank the Gods they spare us,
     for now,    
     our last virginity.

Think now upon the family and friends
     we have lost
     to disease or hunger, to time
     or accident, to addiction or war.  
How shall we remember them
     if not their names?
How shall we speak of them?
Will you remember me?
     Or shall I become as dust in this temple?

Loudly, all my loves, hear me,
      come now with me!
Let us leave this temple for a time,
     walk with me to my secret garden
     where we shall remove these robes
     and look upon one another
     with the gift of acceptance
     and where
     we shall place flowers in our hair.  

Where we shall hold hands
     and walk a bit farther
     to the river and bathe one another
     in the moonlight.
Then let us return here to celebrate
     the memory of the fallen
     as the Gods intended.
Let us remember the names,
     let us speak the names and lest we forget,
cry out their names.
A tribute to Sappho
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