Inception

Inception

She asks,

wants him

to be the first.

As if the other

were a ripened peach,

easily bruised,

they time their movements

to the ancient

pulse of

hearts

then

seas.

Sharp tears through

hidden flesh

steal her breath.

They stop,

begin again;

relentless clock counts towards curfew.

Soothed by his hot sweet breath,

she rests in his embrace—

linear time shifts to the relative distance

between innocence and experience;

she arches,

accepts whispers

fingers

lips

as he eases her through

surmountable pain.

Her chrysalis rips,

new life emerges:

the harsh sun

scent of clary sage

wings drying in a warm breeze.

Thank you to the editors of Hot Flashes: sexy little stories and poems for first publishing this poem.

Hot Flashes

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