When I was eleven, I kissed a boy.

We starred in the school show.

He was bold, I was coy.

His name was Matteo.

After the play, we met backstage.

Did I know what it meant

to kiss a boy at that age?

The detention was well spent.

He left school before long.

My heart ached, not to know why.

I knew how I felt was wrong

that I was in love with a guy.

Years and years away, I'm a man.

A wife with child, a house.

There's no love left in this lifespan

when nothing meant my vows.

Even mature of boyhood, I dream

of the dark of him, his lips, his hair.

In his eyes, the thrilling gleam.

To love a boy, I do not dare.

But something stirs, a drunken night.

I stumble street to street.

A young man bathed in street lamp light.

Inviting lips to meet.

We kiss and Matteo strikes my mind,

the fantasy of years ago.

In bed, I realise I've been blind

to things that I want so.

The jutting hips, carved arms.

The Adam's apple, angular jaw.

His tired eyes, endless charm.

They leave me wanting more.

A part of me that's locked away

revived, alive, and found.

I'm sorry, wife, I must not stay

when what's lost is now around.