IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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FIRST KISS

Len Roberts

When that blue-black cloud came over the sand lot with drops of rain big as marbles, we ran down the dark alley into Big John's orchard where we leaned, then clutched the other's shivering body and I had my first kiss. But what I remember most is the running, how our wet clothes hung to our skin and the clouds actually billowed up as lightning struck the hill. And the smell of cut grass getting wet, the sense of chill coming, the wanting to go home and the wanting never to leave, just the two of us, who didn't love, barely liked each other, breathing, holding hands the way we'd hold an apple slick with rain, or a slingshot stone, lightly, ever so lightly.

 
 
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