"You're so cute", she giggles.
"Yes I am", I stand up and flex my muscles.
"Liking my boyfriend and ****", she blushes and looks to the clouds.
"I mean if he makes you happy then bruh heck yea", I flex my muscles again.
"I'm afraid he does...", she let's the words linger and sighs.
I Furrow my eyebrows and look at her, "You're afraid?" 
"Ee mma (yes ma'am ) ", she looks at me then returns her sight to the clouds.
I look to the clouds as well, hoping to see or read further into what she's saying. 
I see the grey clouds, bland looking, filled with so much mystery, so many questions, will it rain, will it not rain. 
I look back at her, "That he makes you happy?, kana I might be reading a tad too much into this"
She laughs,"I am, what are you picking up?"
I chuckle nervously,"‎That maybe you actually mean that this vast amount of happiness is scary and you don't know what to do with it". 
Her ****** expression changes  and her eyes glow with wariness, "Yes, exactly".
"I think you should enjoy it or something? I mean remember how we had a conversation and we don't truly believe in it. I think like just embrace it, I don't know how though", I scratch my head shrugging.
She looks at me and gives me a sad smile, "I'm enjoying it.. but kana 'monate o hela ka bosula' (Good things always end badly)", she sighs.
"That is so true. I mean I don't think we can ever be ready for that so I can't tell you to prepare yourself or always expect the unexpected because regardless of how it is it will always be unexpected. But according to Buddhist or monks they believe that if you imagine the bad to happen then it'll hurt less, I mean sure it may hurt like a ***** but it won't hurt like a ******* as it was", I look at her and smile
She looks to be in deep though, "Hmn. Monks or Buddhist are smart", she smiles back at me.
"Yea", I grin and look back at the clouds

I donte wante to rush nothing
I donte wante man to rush to slip his slippery tounge in Ma mouth.
I wante man to rush wit ring on ma finger first
And be a dedicated boye
A husban.
Not a man who donte takee kare of his chika

I take the last boat on the Icchhamati River.

the huddled shadows in the gloam
talk of home
a waiting bed
before climbs the moon overhead.

In little comforts voices bask
amid oars sloshing the night
and  I brood in silence
neath the  northern star

how far is home
how far?

Laying underneath the ***** brown tree I pause.
I hold on to my beating heart and look at you.
Memorising your features from your almond eyes,
To the freckles on your cheeks,
To the pearly whites of yours. 

A smile slowly forms as I feel the heart on my hands beat ferociously.
As I see the holes and cracks in it slowly close.
As I watch the darkness being overwhelmed by light.

I close my eyes just to heighten my senses.
To be able to hear your breathing.
Slow and steady breaths. 
Heart thumping with the rhythm of my own.
Talking in morse code.

I pull my arms out and open my eyes.
I look at the red, muscular object.
Beating hard.
I sigh and look at you.
Almond eyes watery.

"This is my heart, it's not much but this is it. 
You're probably wondering how I'm able to breathe but as long as my heart beats in rhythm and harmony with yours, I'm alright"

I

The Princess sings:

I am the princess up in the tower
And I dream the whole day thro’
Of a knight who shall come with a silver spear
And a waving plume of blue.

I am the princess up in the tower,
And I dream my dreams by day,
But sometimes I wake, and my eyes are wet,
When the dusk is deep and gray.

For the peasant lovers go by beneath,
I hear them laugh and kiss,
And I forget my day-dream knight,
And long for a love like this.

  II

The Minstrel sings:

I lie beside the princess’ tower,
So close she cannot see my face,
And watch her dreaming all day long,
And bending with a lily’s grace.

Her cheeks are paler than the moon
That sails along a sunny sky,
And yet her silent mouth is red
Where tender words and kisses lie.

I am a minstrel with a harp,
For love of her my songs are sweet,
And yet I dare not lift the voice
That lies so far beneath her feet.

  III

The Knight sings:

O princess cease your dreams awhile
And look adown your tower’s gray side—
The princess gazes far away,
Nor hears nor heeds the words I cried.

Perchance my heart was overbold,
God made her dreams too pure to break,
She sees the angels in the air
Fly to and fro for Mary’s sake.

Farewell, I mount and go my way,
—But oh her hair the sun sifts thro’—
The tilts and tourneys wait my spear,
I am the Knight of the Plume of Blue.

i loved you under a wandering star,
i loved you in the night,
love that would never fade,
love more gentle than all the stars,
love more gentle than the night.

streams of the stars
golden leaves
sinking in the fading light
dappled shadows
where the light drowns
its stones and unwraps
the sweetness of the night.

To give birth to a new poem
Like buds to flowers, forming lovely thoughts into words
I have create something from nature, to be one with the soil

My words of wisdom came off as freedom of expression
I have demand precision; while planting an imagery vision
In the mind of my readers, my pen moves, my lips were sealed
but my heart and my thought were divided in small pieces

So, here I am giving each and every one of you nourishment
 From this placenta of words to form a new poem;
Emotion you must experience, my insight you must follow,
to find value in something like this,
is called artistry of writing poetry.

And what do I get in return?
What words of wisdom I could possibly impart?
Knowing, I made you think, about writing your next poem.
Is my satisfaction: said this poet

We've all heard the story about Bonnie and Clyde
How they met, eloped and died.

And we're tired of hearing
About Henry and Ann,
And their shameless lives
Back in Tudor England.
When their marriage broke,
Ann lost her head,
With one stroke.

I won't bother you with the story
Of Napoleon and Josephine,
And that messy business
With the guilotine.

You know Caesar and Cleo
Put on quite a show,
They had a long distance relationship
From Rome to Egypt.
But it ended badly.
She by a snake bite,
Him by Marc Antony.

These famous couples didn't tarry;
They were harried
Before they married;
They met and wed,
But were too soon dead.

Now Byron and Colleen
Met when teens,
Byron was sixteen,
Colleen just fifteen.

They lived together,
To begin,
He loved her,
She loved him.
This wasn't living
As they say, “In sin.”
No rings lingered
On wedding fingers:
No bands of gold
To wear 'til old.
No license, no Registrar,
No vows were spoken,
But their silent vows
Were never broken.
They didn't need
A wedding token.
The cost was never the issue here,
Although Byron always claims he's poor.

And thus they carried on.
Boy, did they carry on.
In a romantic spree.
First came Jordan,
Then Jamie.
And thus they passed
Their years together,
In seeming status quo;
A happy well-matched couple,
For all intents, and show.
They lived well,
Ate well too,
Dressed and drove,
Worked and strove
For friends and family.
And all along,
The two of them
Have been our pleasure
To know.
After all, they're behind
Their doors,
That's all we we need to know.
And thus, they carried on.
Boy, they carried on.

Years down the road
They honey-mooned,
And after this, they married;
Like Benjamin Button
All seems reversed.
Should they continue
This backward style,
Then in awhile,
Following this reception,
They'll probably meet
At their conception.
Should they continue
In this fashion,
Their marriage should end
With their parents' ******.

This is
The Ballad of Byron nd Colleen,
and if truth be told,
You're still just teens.