Friday, July 17, 2015

First touch

(With Sandy in the balcony of the Fabian Theater, 1967)

I always thought it would be hard
Or firm before I slipped my fingers
Between the buttons that first time
In the dark long ago
I still think that way
Each time I reach in
Even when I know better
The tip of it the only part
That ever gets hard
Oozing out like a maple tree’s sap
So that my fingers get moist
Though the taste is not as sweet
As I always think it should be,
Yet better than I often imagine
So that I need always
To get my mouth around it
To get some more
A ritual, I never weary of,
Reaching in to gather the fruit
I eventually must consume
Not always in the dark
Like that first time,
But always with the same
Unquenchable hunger
This need to feel
To feel, to taste, to touch
With whatever part of me
I can, to feed this rage
Inside of me that won’t stop there
But goes deep,
All the way to where
The sweetest sap flows.

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