Once as children, ranged on a rock above a twinkling unending sky-blue stretch of sunlit water, we smoked stolen cigarettes, made jokes about being scared of jumping - to talk ourselves into doing it, of course. You had to kind of blink, to let yourself forget; then you were falling, the shock of cold water catching you back. I could do it once, I know. And if I could forget myself like that again, if I just knew how we did it before, I could surprise you yet - could take your hand, laugh, leave this town - or lock my lips on yours, or pull my ready cock out into the world's unsuspecting view.