Month of poetry #20: The first time

The first time isn't about wanting
one or the other. My worry is
heartbeats and brains. Never I'll hear
a whisper in my head saying I hope you're
not a girl, not a boy, not a pair.
I just hope you're there.

The first time isn't like seeing life.
Throbbing in bulges of shadow
if I could I wouldn't touch you.
With a plastic one-handled scanner
they see through me to you. It's like
we're living in a episode of the Jetsons.

The first time isn't like punching.
A butterfly walking along the line
of your undies, or your tights rolling
down a bit on their own. I keep
checking my elastic until I realise
it's you from the inside.

The first time isn't real until suddenly
in the boredom of spinal numbness
a flurry of hands and forceps
is now my life, is like a tired tree
rocketing leaves and you roar
out of me like a waterfall person.

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Includes suggestions from:

@josie_is: like punching a butterfly
@JayJayCee1: I'll hear a whisper in my head saying I hope you're not a girl
@poolspy: waterfall person
@ernmalleyscat: now my life is like a tired tree (John Laws, The Tree)
@timsterne: I wouldn't touch you with a plastic one (John Lennon, Help!)
@chantarelle: it's like we're living in an episode of The Jetsons