Your friends didn't tell you
what it would be like
though they insisted you were
the last in your clique to try it.
They even selected the boy for you,
a guy more endearing than handsome.
A match for what was said about you,
they figured – cute but not hot.
And when it happened,
it didn't feel anxious.
It wasn't like the end of one world
and the beginning of another.
Nor did it threaten.
And whatever of your head you lost
you regained when lips parted.
And there was no great urge
to report to your cell phone,
punch in all your friend's numbers.
as frantic as a moth.
Instead, you calmly retreated into your house,
closed the door behind you,
avoided all eyes
as you slowly climbed the stairs.
fell on the bed,
began a conversation with yourself.
The mattress was familiar.
Likewise the pillow.
And the posters on the wall.
But something was different.
You'd kissed a guy for the first time.
Hardly love. Not even exciting.
It was like introducing yourself to someone,
with no more than a fumbled handshake.
Only it was a something not a someone.
You made a promise to get to know it better.
DoubleSpeak 