First Love

I will lay in your bed, loving you–
until you are called to Sunday church
to confess the sin of loving me.

You will drive me home in a black dress–
playing the music that was made for
young gay lovers, screaming and freeing
our bodies from the ties and ropes
made from strips of an old white dress,
closeted for years,

that dress your mother wore
when she wed your father
on a winter night, she said:
“One day, you will wear this
when you marry a man like him.”