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.