Inception
She asks,
wants him
to be the first.
As if the other
were a ripened peach,
easily bruised,
they time their movements
to the ancient
pulse of
hearts
then
seas.
Sharp tears through
hidden flesh
steal her breath.
They stop,
begin again;
relentless clock counts towards curfew.
Soothed by his hot sweet breath,
she rests in his embrace—
linear time shifts to the relative distance
between innocence and experience;
she arches,
accepts whispers
fingers
lips
as he eases her through
surmountable pain.
Her chrysalis rips,
new life emerges:
the harsh sun
scent of clary sage
wings drying in a warm breeze.
Thank you to the editors of Hot Flashes: sexy little stories and poems for first publishing this poem.
