I will never forget that one wild summer.
Sharp and fresh as a blade of grass,
Cutting pale skin,
A single drop of blood trailing in its wake.
Can anything ever touch it?
"All comparison is lovelessness",
Says Teresa of Aquila.
What would she know of simple human passion?
What would she know of forbidden messages,
Of jumping in the car, abandoning work
At a single word from him.
Arriving at his door,
Moist,
Breathless,
Scared,
Aroused already by his words.
What's it going to be, my darling slut?
Unbearable sweetness?
Delicious cruelty?
You are asking me to be a saint,
Not to recall the sharp flavours of that summer,
Asking me not to missNot to recall the sharp flavours of that summer,
Every second of that pure wild existence.
Sometimes I think you ask too much.
You say you ask for my own good.
But I know good,
It's not what you think.
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