Once, a lonely boy, with lonely eyes, who smelled like musk & cigarettes, made love to me in the empty darkness. His perfectly rough hands & smooth tongue burned their sadness across my skin. I felt all the explosions of time: youth, summer, and an overly ripe apple connected to the barren fields.
What I have learned about love in this life, is that it can never be stolen from us. Those raw, humbling and exposing memories. No desperate moment can ever be pried from our being.
Yet, there was a worm which worked its way into the barren field, entered the branch & ate its way into the tunneled heart of the decaying apple.
And with its body: wrote a new language through the lost years.
So there must be another more convincing name for innocence, the kind the body never lost.