That Love

I was thirteen.

She was seventeen, maybe

eighteen.

               She lived with her grandparents

and all three attended my father's church.

and we were in the basement

in a Sunday school classroom

and then my hand to her breast

sliding into an unbuttoned blouse

as we kissed

                      and then our hands everywhere,

lips on each other as she guided me and I felt her breath

or God's or both on my neck

and that surge that would change 

everything and her smile as we pulled

our clothes back on

                                she going up one and I

the other stairs.

                       And everytime I feel that breathing

on my neck, I am haunted 

by that breath I felt, that human panting

and something else felt

in the basement of the sanctuary.

-Byron Hoot