you were 16 when
First Love kissed you
gently before going in,
his Nirvana shirt tossing about
erratic with all the other
arms and legs and energy –
a cell’s membrane bloodied
wide open and the contents
finally free to confront
one and another,
like they all had a bone to pick,
and your body lost in the exhilaration
of love and hormones and
finally feeling like your ball
had found its socket.