A first kiss

Somewhere in Africa, there's a long green asbestos fence
With a hole in the webbed wiring right at the very end,
There where it bent upwards, leaving just enough space to crawl through
On our bellies.
Where across intertwined fingers,
and at rope ladder meetings upon the nearby tree,
you above and me never ever more than three rungs below
we'd whisper secrets our parents would never know.
Sieved worlds of white and brown flowed in-between.
I think the dog it was who captured us,
Your lips puckered up, but still an inch away from mine,
Your eyes closed, like in the movies and like you said your dad did it,
Mine wide open and frozen in the fear that I would scream.
We ran into the bathroom of your house that twinned mine,
So we exactly knew where everything was, should be, but wasn't,
Hence we kept stumbling into things that were where we thought they wouldn't be.
In the bathroom on the first floor,
Amidst dirty laundry in a wicker basket, yesterday's newspapers and the smell of shampoo from London,
Mother at the supermarket, dads at work,
Nosy kid brother hovering outside the latched door
And mine calling for me, I could hear, in the garden, across the fence
No time for niceties, just a pounding fear
of doing it, or not, and succeeding, or not, and liking it, or not.
There, in two pairs of socks, with an elastic snapped, that had been face to face before,
And the taste of bubble gum lingering,
There, brown and white, went wholly pink.