The patch of bare
skin below your
neck fascinates me,
smooth and pale beneath a
mint-colored shirt,
carelessly left unbuttoned at
the top of your breast.
I shy away from your
adolescent figure,
small and child-like in a
young man's arm,
but a
woman in mine.
I'm not meant to crave your
long hair and gloss-painted
lips, but the
freckles on your
cheeks mock me, your
hips intoxicate me.
I only imagine your
scent, your taste,
sweet and gentle like the
air inside me,
girl's perfume and
shampoo clung to you like
a veil.
You're nothing but
a little girl,
but,
in my arms,
you could be so
much more.