Tonight, I deliberately spent a long time avoiding the prompt at hand. My boyfriend (who has been visiting me in America) just left for England, and I wasn't in the mood to write something sappy or angsty about him (since, really, he is the very epitome of "first romance" for me). Anyway, I decided to take this prompt in another direction, looking at what I would call my "first love". See if you can guess... (if you can't, you can shoot me, I'd deserve it).
#8 - First Romance
Stumbling fingers tickle over pages;
not yet nimble enough to extract
the ecstasy that couples a run of fingernails
along a cracking spine,
they tremble with anticipation.
Longing spreads from words unknown,
creates a sense of glittering fortresses
surrounded by dense black fog,
and sharp, finger-pricking brambles;
you are merely waiting for your weapon.
Until, after what seems like
a thousand years of sleep drenched
in ignorance and confusion, with a sword
at you side, and pointed satisfaction
you apprentice the art of knowing.
Comprehension is the first step
to unlock those mysterious castles
buried deep in their darkness,
beneath the light voice of your mother
who patiently guides you til you can stand alone.
The pages between your fingertips
are rubbed clean of misunderstanding
and they guide the heart to
feel as though it has grown
from a caterpillar into a butterfly.
What once seemed like an iron padlock
appears to you now as elf-inhabited woodland,
only waiting for your discovery
and desiring to be known by the world
so long as you will offer your mind.
Hieroglyph becomes Latin
becomes French and then finally
the home tongue, English.
The azaleas bloom in the garden
and the brambles wilt and decay.
Nimble fingers tremble over pages.
The soft familiar scent of language
is enough to incite the ecstasy that
couples the echo of a cracking spine;
the adroit fingers quiver with the stirring
anticipation
of what is yet to come.
Words: 241
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