I have something to disclose to you. Secrets about how women have always tasted somewhat better to me than men. Even when the boys that kiss my thighs have told me that I am much too hot blooded for a goddess.
Rooting in first grade she would hold my hand and kiss it. She told me she loved me and I made her happy. And we would open up secrets in school bathrooms which she unlocked with her small hands on my girlhood. She would kiss me as though she had known me in a past life.
We lost each other along the way. When the universe seemed to look down on our absurd pursuit of what the others called ‘puppy love’.
I did not lose those secrets written behind my now developing breast. When I kissed and whispered hymns into the tongues of other hers and let my thighs rub on her now close to womanhood.
She was crafted carefully. Fit to set my confusion ablaze.
Thighs interlinked and we would not stop until the cotton cloth that tucked in our womanhood was watered. It always happened too quickly for my comprehension. She would giggle and promise me with her soft lips on mine that it never happens again.
My heart was set on fire again. In a scene of greener pastures, the harvest was large but my coyness sealed my lustful desires beneath my tongue
Tongue tied and tongue twisted
I could not have told the girls that shone at full blast how their frequency activated the intensity of my silly desires. Silly crushes on women who had no desire to taste my lips. I refrained from writing about them.
They were my sisters.
Ladies who sparked my desires, in an achingly beautiful way. I dreamed and left them un-pursued.
My sensibilities are unfamiliar to those that raise sons and daughters. Who kiss the boys and make them fathers.
My allegiance to men tainted by the ambiance of women.