It’s not a night sort of dark. It’s the secret kind.

Complete with cold air and wet grass

The scent of boy and beer and earth

A rollicking aroma that turns reality into sudden dream

His words are murmured against skin, so the words catch in your senses

They are stuck there, and will not wash away

A strange and wet sort of soft are his lips, too tentative

To venture further than your face

Flittering over

As if he could taste your eyes

Fingers are intertwined, a spiderweb of desperation

Paint stained nails scratch at knuckles
white with pressure…Bloodless

As everything without emotion is drained

Can knuckles feel ?

Questions seep into the atmosphere, forgotten now.

Unanswered.

The dew seeps through your hoodie,

Somehow, into your skin, to chill your blood

And he feels warmer for it

It’s not touching, because the palms, cold sweated, never meet your skin

It’s lying in the grass and exchanging close-mouthed secrets with your lips

And breaths curl and wisp into the air

It’s a new sort of smoke

Tinted opaque and smelling of cheap drunkeness

Don’t close your eyes yet, because kaleidoscopes can make you dizzy

The actions are there, but your legs cannot move, they are curled around heavy weight

Dew seeping into your hoodie

Fingers intertwined- sighs trapped in the web ; struggling fireflies

You didn’t really lose your virginity

Because he never touched you, with his cold sweated palms

And you never bled, into dew-seeping grass

Your breath never caught and your eyes never teared

Smiles didn’t exist at the time,

And now

The purity is torn

The innocence reflected in the broken glass

Brown like Africa, and.

Your virginity

For the moment

Is salvaged.