It doesn't matter that you weren't my first. You will be (and have been) the first of many:
The first to make me shake with need, first I pounce on out of greed; first to let me ride the wave and first to make me lie awake - first I roll onto at morning, first I favored without warning, first to use me through the night in all the ways we dream you might; first to get into my sleep, behind my eyes - the first to reap just what you want; take it from me - I don't care, keep it; set it...
Not by a person, not by a feeling - not with a favor and not with skin peeling; not underwater and not on the ground, never in music - no, never in sound: if something should bind me from the life I adore, if I can't know the flavors I haven't explored; if someone should blind me to keep me from harm, it's an inch I can't savor; I'd claw at their arm:
Someone should let a snake through eternal life. It would hiss at a god, right under his knife, whereas we (gratefully) would entreat to the steel - no complaint or restraint; we could paint our own deal in our favor, in blindness to whether we gain - whether what we're receiving is pleasure or pain - we can mask, hide, and wrap things in nine different ways; we can shove them in bibles or mute them with tape over lips in a silver as quiet as rain.
You can ride life like a tower that holds you high with the night in your hair. You can drink in every hour and breathe and sing to the infinite air. If ever you lean on the railing, remain resolute - lock a foot somewhere sound; letting lights call you down is an option, but how will you witness them all from the ground?