First touch

(With Sandy in the balcony of the Fabian Theater, 1967)


I always thought it would be hard

Or firm before I slipped my fingers

Between the buttons that first time

In the dark long ago

I still think that way

Each time I reach in

Even when I know better

The tip of it the only part

That ever gets hard

Oozing out like a maple tree’s sap

So that my fingers get moist

Though the taste is not as sweet

As I always think it should be,

Yet better than I often imagine

So that I need always

To get my mouth around it

To get some more

A ritual, I never weary of,

Reaching in to gather the fruit

I eventually must consume

Not always in the dark

Like that first time,

But always with the same

Unquenchable hunger

This need to feel

To feel, to taste, to touch

With whatever part of me

I can, to feed this rage

Inside of me that won’t stop there

But goes deep,

All the way to where

The sweetest sap flows.




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