Terry's blog: "My poetry"

Child to Child

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Here

(below the pane

beneath the sill,

twice painted

but not yet filled)

rest the carved initials

of our humid love.

These letters

(to those who see them now)

may conjure images

of hands that held,

of lemonade

sipped and spilled

on old porch swings

and, perhaps, a kiss

on one abundant cricket-night

in June.

Oh...

the hands did hold,

did surely touch,

first tentative

as child to child,

then bold

as new flesh

seeks its own.

Nakedness

(glistening and braiding

by the light of eyes

and shade of moon)

throbbed with youth away

into the brine-stung agony

of shameful

(therefore, overwhelming)

joy,

ending in the surge

of our eruption into sin.

Here,

it all is written

(pure flesh and lust belied

by boy with knife)

the first love shudder

sealed under sill

(in guise of innocence)

for all to see

yet none but us to know.

After the first ecstasy

there is no other.