Ranworth, Norfolk. This lane, in May, reminds me of my early teens - 5464

First Kiss Remembered.

 

Could it have been May,

Before the first cut hay?

Down a lane, a hedge with

Murmur of bees in hawthorn,

And the sweet tobacco smell

Of new crushed grass.

 

Maybe it was May,

As we lay

Hidden from the lane?

Soft touching of

Our teenage lips,

Amazing me with the

Sweetness of your breath.

 

We embraced;

My anxious fingers daring

That first touch,

Yet fearing rejection

Of a caress that lingered

Upon your maiden breast,

Warm, through your cotton bra.

 

But I remember most

The beating of your heart within,

As if bursting from your chest

To be racing with my own.

 

All way, way enough

For the first time.

 

A kiss, a touch, as we lay,

It was with almost certainty,

That glorious month of May.

 

 

 

 

 

Done