Holding Hands in the Dark

A boy took my hand at recess and I was
dizzy for the rest of that sunny day.
I crossed a threshold wondering
what thrills were beyond?
His hand was soft and plain.

Adult lives grow complex, hard, and dark.
And so, in honor of our darkness,
we meet for this unholy rendezvous
in this place without light.

Like our children,
we need the hands of another.
Hold tightly as we dance to ancient
rhythms that grew from the shared
pleasures of our species.

Hold my hand and let us share the guilt of betrayal.  
Hold my hand as we find pleasures in the
compromise of our lovemaking.  
The rhythms that ensure our
procreation cannot be denied.
Ours is the lovemaking of youth,
innocent and naïve, at least for these moments.