when i was without one? i had a nasty habit at age 16
of falling in love with women: not girls but women who knew
the tender explosions of carnal love and the rough
trappings of tattoo needles, engagement rings,
and (most horrifyingly) babies - one in particular
claimed rosary beads were the way to go, even as
something was plucked from her supple worn womb.
so tenderly they would kiss my cheeks and let
the wetness of their red lips ooze down my face;
and they would smile, thinking that i was somehow
man enough to take it, but what they didn't see
was my infatuation engulfed with boyhood fantasies
that left me with so many sleepless nights.
how often i dreamed of that smooth salty kiss
upon my (then) virgin lips, the shock of a subtle
pulsing within hips pale or tanned, fleshy or boney;
these women were the ones to show me what to do
when i finally did fall in love - "don't be afraid" -
fear was not of what i was doing:
i was afraid of somehow falling in love while between
those hips about which i dreamed so much
but never truly got to taste.
thus i was afraid of taking those teenage girls (still virginal)
and making them women; making them the harsh
visions of those crushing thighs and beatings of
worn and strained hips and forgetting to kiss them.
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