When we hold hands that first time, Will her hands be warm and firm? Or will they be cold and limp Resting half-heartedly in mine?
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When we kiss that first time Will her lips be warm and soft and moist? Or will they be dry and unyielding, Or worse still, like a mother’s kiss to her child?
When we spend that first night together Will she fall asleep in my arms, waking with a smile? Or will she ask that I leave early? And stay her dirty secret and nothing more?
* * *
The first draft of this poem was written over 30 years ago, and it was only this week that it felt finished. The last line wouldn’t come together.
