Her Hand Was First Mine

Our bodies fell together.    
The gentle weight of her angled frame      
rested on me as a strange heat grew between us.      
     
Her temple against mine      
Her breathing      
Did she feel my hesitation?      
     
Her thin fingers found me.      
Her frame shifted above me.      
A syrupy silk angel fell over me.      
     
Her flesh relaxed like a weighted blanket.      
Two pounding hearts inches apart.      
Two minds with unsure desires.      
She rose and our panicked eyes met      
to acknowledge our human weakness.      
     
Her hips moved      
bringing me deep, then out,      
deep, then out.      
Oh God! Deep, then out!      
     
My eyes were wet from this first feeling of oneness,      
honest acceptance,      
a sacred warmth.      
     
Her hands held my shoulders      
as if she were falling.      
Our skulls tapped gently,      
the bone spheres that held our souls.      
What a miracle it seemed that such recent creations      
from the love of our parents      
might now share this pleasure!      
     
I felt her shallow panting on my neck      
then, the sway of her torso      
like the boughs of a young willow      
at an approaching storm.      
     
My curious fingers scanned her slender back      
still marveling at her creation.      
My hands settled on her pulsing hips,      
wondering what she felt.      
     
Was she happy?      
Was she scared?      
Her frantic thrusting grew stronger.      
I reciprocated and for several moments      
we were guiltless animals whose frames      
crashed together with abandon.      
In those moments there were no thoughts.      
No fears      
No hesitation      
Only singular desiring of the other      
     
She knew my first coming inside a girl      
and rose over me,      
smiling childlike at the        
pleasure in my eyes.      
     
We folded into each other unsure      
but warm in the euphoric fulfillment      
of our innocent ancient sin.      
     
We later parted to seek new love.      
I felt sadness in knowing others would have her as I had.        
     
But today, seeing her ringed finger resting on her new life is not sad,  
but a reminder that her hand was first mine.