A four foot chastity.
Across the crowded room, projected with tv light, you flicker red, green, blue. We were only watching each other, waiting for the credits. Then, under the streetlight, the end of the approach, you bowled me over. Hands bound, sweating, squeezing to mask the tremble. That summer night, I walked the square kilometre from boy to man. A birthday hystolysis. Later, in the dark, our separate beds were joined only by our hands, a four foot chastity, pretending to be older, scared to be older.