[Editor’s comment: P.S. – I think the initial vetters were in agreement that your poetry submission had compelling moments–it just didn’t have enough poems.]
Desire knows no gender, or age, whichever you think carries greater weight. Punishment is farthest from the mind during the climax of sin. What matters is experimentation, what should be considered is the taste of the other in your mouth. What matters is lust. Epiphany: how different you are. Eleven, and already exposed to the initiations of the world. An unraveling; hunger has been known.
The secret can be traced in the lips and in the mouth. Found in the manner of inexperienced kissing, of being oblivious to hiding places. What you had was for only for darkness. Margins, numerous streets and alleys where you and the other nestled.
The true meaning of loss, it dawns on you, could not be found in sudden gasps for breath in cold, dark streets during cold, dark nights. Rather, it pounces on you during the presence of light and heat, in mornings and afternoons. You find the day is more vulnerable; you are its child.