To say that nothing happened
is true—if by nothing you mean
laying down naked
or kissing or holding hands.
We didn’t lay down naked
or kiss or hold hands—
but what about the walk we took
around the lake
not far from the party?
The dirt trail was shadowed with pines,
tall and indifferent to the way
our eyes fell into shyness as we spoke.
So no. Nothing happened
that would be a betrayal
or a crime against your trust
even though we briefly touched
when he helped me cross a log
that bridged a glasswater creek
so we could examine the full moon
from a treeless clearing.
But we did feel the razor wire
of restraint as we stood, shivering
and silent in the field of possibilities
where he didn’t put his lips to mine
even though I fear I might have let him
if he hadn’t reminded me
with sensible regret
that we both have breakable hearts
waiting back home—
trusting that nothing would happen
even though we wanted it to.