Thoughts of a pressured virgin under his lover’s window on the night of the first time

Why stand here do I wasting time? 

To hear the talk to be sexed is sublime –

to be proved by that window into climb.

Yet this begin I retard continuing to an un-enact in darkened yard. 

Why did I boast so loud the lover’s card? 

Frozen as if unstudied for a final graded test,

I should be agog with visions of her body upon my chest,

 snug and warming as a parka’s inside vest. 

She oft has said to be mine,

quite aloud with not subtle sign –

why question do I her verbal design? 

It is a slight matter to put my head in to peek,

to see if now her eyes I am the one she does seek –

 if yes, what if too soon I over flow, already I leak. 

Enough, I must know what the night has in store –

 be it in her bed or abet to her on the floor,

it is time to sink or soar.

Pushed to this I was,

not for purpose but just because –

 damn my egotistical buzz.

 I could walk way without even a try,

if she would ask me why

 I could just answer with a sigh

to my intended action who would tell her such a lie? 

Would serve that rat well,

for trying to interlope into where he should not dwell.

 But to my love a disappoint I cannot to myself or to her sell.


6 thoughts on “Thoughts of a pressured virgin under his lover’s window on the night of the first time

    1. I seem to slant my writing style more towards this type, for what reason I don’t know for sure, other than Lord Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty” happened to be the first poem that really struck me as the apex of artistry. The style earned me the moniker a few years back, “Neo North” – someone thought that I had a Shakespearean overtone to my subconscious poetic groove so I became the “New Shakespeare”, and since I am Canadian, North become a part of it. Even today, depending on which editor is reviewing my article submission at, I either get the byline of A.B Thomas or Neonorth. While it does sound good to be compared to Shakespeare, I know that I am not even close to hitting the lowest rung of the bard’s genius. I do like the moniker though, it reminds (chides, more the like) that there is something to strive for and never to think that I’ve come close to what could be and settle for what is.


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