The first time I met him I was sixteen years old
his eyes set me swirling but his heart was cold.
The next time I met him was at seventeen
I gave him a part of me that can’t be retrieved.
The third and the fourth times are inconsequential
and the memories they left are barely substantial.
The fifth time I met him I thought it would be
forever and always, that us would be we.
And then came my true love, and oh, how I grieve
that I couldn’t stay, and he couldn’t leave.
The next time I first met him I really believed
that he was Mr Right, and of course I was deceived.
I guess I’ll take full blame for yet another few
in between, here and there, but none that was true.
Again I first met him when I shouldn’t be there
and that was indeed my most whirlwind affair.
I cried when he couldn’t or wouldn’t commit,
but then came the next one and I thought ‘what if’?
It wasn’t the first time I met this one, though
as destiny would have it we’d first met before, in school.
Too soon it was clear to me it wouldn’t last
and again I was shattered, I broke my heart.
The most recent first time still burns inside me
there were so many signs of disaster to see.
Since then I’ve steered clear of those first time meets
and avoided all male company between my sheets.
Perhaps in the future there will be more
of love’s first meetings, but I’m not so sure.