I see the feet scrambling past the basement window.
Immediately and discreetly,
my fresh fascination with blasphemy awakes
and tugs at me.
Silence floods the concrete-walled space
and plugs my ears.
All I hear is the sound of my heart beating,
rapidly speeding to accommodate the thoughts
racing in my mind.
This blazing and sudden heat incites me
to cool myself with a honey-sweet treat.
I run up the stairs and open the door;
there before me stands the neighbourly governor—
the one of my adolescent fantasies.
I look at you—you are unassuming.
You are unaware of the magnificence of you
leaping right into me.
My heart races to match the rush
of the bloody stampede.
My head is open to countless pictures of you.
The sorcery of lust binds me.
I serve blindly, even as fear invades,
even as I wish I could succumb to cowardice;
I am led by the need for a kiss.
Impetuous youth—I am choosing
not to associate consequences with my actions.
I soften my resolve and my defence strategy
to be one with my curiosity.
I choose to embrace my burgeoning lasciviousness.
The knock on the door quickly becomes a rumble.
Thunder grumbles within me; hunger wraps
itself around my sensibility.
The helpless one is squeezed into complacency.
I open the door.
We quietly sneak into a cemented room nearby.
The faint scent of gasoline lends
a dirty flavour to the seduction scene.
Locked in the darkness,
with nervousness in abundance,
we begin to caress each other.
I think to myself that my parents hoped
I would turn out better than this.
Shaken suddenly by a kiss,
we are both paralyzed.
A witness was born in the eyes
of my sister.