Forgive me.
When I drove you home,
the peach fuzz on your dimples,
your lithe limbs fresh from practice,
your grecian forehead,
your long curly hair,
your quiet, earnest soul
made a lobster of me
caught boiling in my own blood.
I tried to hide it.
I felt the flames of my religion
 melting away from me.
And the most cowardly sin
 I may have ever done
is to ham-handedly deny
 your tender and innocent maidenhood
 undid me.

Exhaling
silently whistling
blithe as a tea kettle
steaming before it screams
nursed by her ribs
tender as a kitten’s underbelly
never looking up
smiling into her smartphone
as if she knew
as the smoke blew