Losing Innocence to a Stranger

i remember:
when my clothes fell
to your bedroom floor
i felt alive.
i felt complete.
i felt the warmth of your arms around me,
the taste of your lips embraced with mine;
mouth meets neck, hipbone meets hipbone.

i remember:
retracing your curves as you squeezed
my lower libido. your tongue's texture:
new. exciting. slippery. the structure
of our anatomical collision: fast-paced.

i remember:
how your dirty mattress became
my new sanctuary. my fulfilment.
my release. my safety escape.
or how your curtains became my
protection from reality.

is this even real? a lucid dream, perchance?
impatient exchange. or imperfect romance?
a casual relief. fornication's dance?
am i in the wrong?
am i in your heart?
am i in love? lust?
or below the belt?

am i beneath the sheets you use with every other guest?
am i another fetish simply shoved amongst the rest?

an unreturnable gift,
an irreplacable wish.
a sticky situation of:
sweat, years, 'trust'
(over-expectations)

i think you should know
the scent of your cherry
body wash, the one we
said looked like blood, it
still lingers on my hands.

i think you should know
that lather rinse repeat
only matters to me if i'm
in your shower. in your
house. in your pants.

i think you should know i remember every detail.
i think you should know i don't regret one thing.