My arms, more certain than ever, attempt to clasp the coral wall.
I attempt to tame my soft moans from making their way down the dance hall.
He will remain unnamed, but he was from Montreal.
He will remain unmatched, as no one had ever made me so enthralled.
He caressed my precious aperture, and asked me to whom I belonged,
I simply said, “to the one who will make my body implore.”
And then, in that proceeding moment, as he carried me midair,
I craved for him to passionately explore elsewhere
as I held on to his pitch black hair;
then and there, he devoured me like a ripe pear.
In which, the beauty of such memory remains just that, forever rare.