8ish.

Between foreign teeth, lay a tongue, setting forth no rules, no laws.
Faking innocence, in just the right ways.

Never once, did I feel trapped.


The right kind of hurt, at the right time.
Never saying why.
Never needing to explain.

Never once, did I regret it.


Intertwined like no time'd gone by.
Laying above. Beneath. Behind.

Never once, did I think twice.


Good graces working overtime.
Esteem nothing of an issue.

Never once, did I feel ugly.


Something of a faith, working me over.
Of love's long since lost...only to be found.
Eight or so later.

I have yet to frown or speak ill of what I'd done.

And I'm sure, that I'll refrain.