Boy
with an S on his jacket,
red and yellow,
the color of love.
Our lips meet
(my first,
his not).
I kiss all the time
I lie,
pressing together
his to mine.
First kiss,
tongue or no,
then again.
Lips,
not too wet,
not too dry.
Stumbling together
through the mist,
we roll in leaves,
his breath hot
against my neck.
But he bites
(my first,
his not).
He reveals
his true face
and I am not
repulsed.
But he
does not survive.
First date.
And yet
I have to take his life
to save my own.