A Hymn to the Heady Desires of High School Students

My lips cannot attest to 
back seat tales of cars and movie theaters
To the trembling hand on a tightening thigh
To hard-ons of high school boys 
in locker rooms or locked behind bedroom doors

I know not of the 
urgent  whispers from beneath bleachers
and the moans, gasps,  when fingers,
quivering, soft, explore the nether regions
of another soft trembling form

The nights of corsages
and cheap motel rooms do
not belong to me…
The hot, heady desire burning
forth, melting inhibitions at 
the gymnasium crepe paper 
donned doors.

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