I close my eyes and I still see
the brackish sheen exertion
in summer’s oppression
dressed her flesh in.
Her palms pressing my chest in
with arms supporting the weight
of primordial woman’s
expression of love, realized.
Mere words will fall short
at that age – our lexicons abridged
by lives we hadn’t yet lived
enough to expand our vocabularies.
With emotionally immature
hearts – unripe and raw –
we fervently explored territory
only weeks before scarcely charted.
A frontier, although not pure,
still seemingly pristine
in each other’s eyes
where we found ourselves reassured
that this was as right as it was good.
Embracing all the more
the further loss of our innocence,
but at least this time “en amour.”
-HymnAgen