Why do I remember you
with bright sunshine on your golden hair
when we spent our time in darkened
shadows like wolves hidden in a lair?
Why do I remember you smiling down
on me with that lust-flushed face when
we only had learned one position;
me on top and, on a mission?
How did these lying images come
to be planted inside my head,
even as I faithfully recall
everything we did and each word we said?
Could it be that the liar in me
is not just deceitful but, also pedantic,
insisting that first love must be romantic?
Mine was the imaginary never ending.
Yours I recall, was condescending.
So tell me why my mind presents
these false images, to this very day;
visuals of love young and sweet,
when I know full well, it was never that way.