My First Love

My first love called to me last night,

her words perfect and seductive

as she invited me inside her covers.

I traced her spine with my fingertip

and inhaled her scent, reminiscent

of a forgotten woodland and mystery.

I removed her jacket and held her

stroking her naked skin, paper thin

and shivering in the evening wind.

I drank her in with my eyes,

consuming her with a fiery passion,

as if to make up for the time lost

since the summers spent running

from hiding place to hiding place

as we explored the world together,

alone in each others company but content.

My first love has been my constant,

playing with me and growing with me.

Fighting my battles by my side

and weathering the storms silently.

I drink her in greedily,

like a starving man seeing food,

or a blind man seeing with his fingers.

My eyes strain to contain her

as the light in the rooms fades

and sleep summons me mercilessly.

Finally, I slumber, snoring lightly

at ease knowing my love is by my side.

My first love, my best friend, my teacher

Though her face may change daily

and her body thicken or thin

and the black scars upon her white face

tell a different story each time we meet,

I will always love her.