Wallet of my Memory

In the wallet of my memory

I have my children's pictures,

My early thirsts and first-time crimes,

Some hurts.

Here's my first orgasm. The vibrator

At my lap surprised me at eleven

And life was changed both good and ill.

Here's my first hand masturbation.

There's the scene--the family bathroom:

That child, stillborn, still lives with me.

Next we have my first French kisser.

Lovely, pillowed lipped, sweet-breathed

Buxom lass from first year college!

I see the Buick's front bench seat

Parked behind the doughnut shop,

And my shock at how we dove into each other's mouths.

Here's my first breast worship session.

Large, hefty, I weighed them in my palms,

I licked and sucked each square inch

And pulled the nipples with my lips

Into salutory camera triggers.

And next, fellatio, first, my wife-to-be

Gave unto me. A bastard child!

Orphaned future, faked seduction

She never planned for us to keep.

And there's where I forsook my honor.

The phonograph parked by the bed

Played Ludwig's 9th as I climbed astride

The weeping thighs and knew

The insides of my wife-to-be.

A forest, next, where first I took

My future bride in daylight. Twigs and

Brush our blanket, the clouds her ceiling tiles.

A quickly taken photograph, for

Neither she nor I could last too long

Under the robin's song.

Last, I treasure last time she,

My wife who'd promised much to me,

Took my body to her mouth and gulped me.

That loss-worn photo, decades creased,

Is my child long since deceased.

I've said farewell to all of them,

These children in my wallet.

Sterile love, if love it be,

Aborted any further children.

Now give my wallet back to me!

I need to stanch my memory from hemorrhaging,

These pictures, poultices of kids,

To spore my mold'ring bitterness.