I try to imagine what you saw
That cold October night
In our town cemetery
When you silently laid back for me
Upon a randomly chosen
Moss-encrusted tomb
The stars, blinking slightly
Refocusing their vision
Unsure of what they were witnessing below
In your beautifully frank nudity
From waist to ankles

I palpated that same moss
The soft, tickling brush
Between my fingers
Our bodies in plush suspension
As if we were the last suffocating fish
In a drained ocean basin
Both straining, gasping for breath
And mobility

From my humble vantage
I could not see
If anything registered
In your crystal-blue, Siberian Husky eyes
As I genuflected before you
For the first time
Between your legs
My tongue rapidly flipping
Through soft vellum pages
Of marvelously indecipherable text

I could not see
Whether you might have felt
The first thin strain
The snip, the slip
Of your newly minted confirmation cross
As it caught on something
And gave way from the tension
Slid off your neck
A holy ghost's parting whisper
Across your clavicle

We left the cemetery
Hand in hand, hurried
By the advancing threat
Of your father's curfew
A fearsomely thick transparent wall
Silently advancing behind us
Which neither of us wished to touch

We parted at your house
And I walked home
Alone in the silence
Ensconced in the large concave night sky
The dark tree limbs above
Like generous fissures in the universe's shell
Trusting me enough to see
Its soft innards
Making me feel more blessed
Than by the sacrament
We had unknowingly and forever misplaced

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