The first boy I kissed was a kind and courteous youth

With a motorbike and leather jacket he came across so smooth.

Our chaste late teenage romance seemed to feel like love

Til I left for study and he found someone else.

The second third and fourth have vanished without trace,

No memory remains; not a name nor a face.

The lips of this young lady always willingly upturned

Like a fledgling sparrow whose parent has returned.

Boys and later men advanced and retreated

As lightly as ripples on a beach can recede.

Such sweet remembrance of sanctified soft days,

while kinder amnesia protects fondly kept clichés.