"I enjoy you."

We touched at our highschool pace,
aware of our hands and lips and how

we made sure that her door was open.
We didn't want to call it sex and we

didn't want to call ourselves friends,
so we took precautions to resist resisting

our resistances. "I'm not easy; I'm fast."
The cool coo lipped before a foggy dryice no.

And it took weeks to break the skin
of her hesitations. With a finger slipped

in and her smiling gasp; with my "I won't"
broken by my teeth on her writhing hip;

with our petting and pressing hardness and
wetness, but still saintly clothed and precious.

So she keeps her halo bright by denying what
I'm trying to caress, and I try when I shouldn't.