“Pottery Painting,” Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1871, Wikiart.

What was the first time like? Like whirlwind,
Did it happen suddenly? Or something else
Memorable? It began as quiet conversation
Over coffee, nearby restaurant. We went
Where we weren’t known, no one cared
what we did. Ocean-view hotel room
Preferred, amorous showers, bathrobes
Fluffy. What was forbidden we desired,
Kisses, tender touches. Breathless, we gave
Ourselves to passion, to sweet ecstasies.

Arms and legs entangled, we promised our
Feelings would last forever, time-suspended
Painted figures on Greek urn. The Ancients
Understood, accepted who we were, olive
Oil bathing, sea and sun adoring, nakedness
Unconcerned. Through the agora, we strove
Hand-in-hand, our love-making enhanced
By fruit, honeyed bread, wine. Has it been
Like this since? I did not answer. I oft hoped
It would be, then again, maybe it should not.

Thanks for reading.

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