Tucked in a Flap

You were there when I first learned
how to kiss - tongue twisted
in the closet, one hand on your hip.

You said, "Wait,"
so we waited.
We talked of things--tried to analyze

our dreams--massage oils,
and favorite places
to press our lips.

Before too long we were tangled up
in ways only a gymnast would understand.
Later that night it was my room:

bottom bunk. You said your favorite moment
was when the candle flickered
in my brown burnished eyes.

Then summer came and you were gone;
home driving Rusty to your favorite spot -
that waterfall, your secret oubliette.

It was never the same after that,
you're two-thousand miles long gone,
tucked away in a flap
of someone elses back pocket.