First

He seemed to have said that before,
I wasn’t the first.
He seemed to have said that before,
A line well rehearsed.

He kept the meter,
Kept true to rhyme.
And all that while,
I’d lost track of time.

There was no memento to keep,
No poem in memory.
Not even hours spent,
Under the shade of a tree.

And I just stood there,
Not knowing what to say.
I’d been his thing of lust,
While he’d been my true first.