In an orchard where sunbeams weave through leaves like golden threads,
I glimpsed her, a cherry blossom in white, where beauty gently spreads,
Her presence, a delicate fragrance of vanilla, soft and true,
With cheeks aglow like dawn’s first light, and ribbons kissed by dew.

Her hands, with tender touch, reached for the fruit within her grasp,
A dance of fingertips on ripened skins, a symphony of sweet and rasp,
Each bite a quiet celebration, a whisper of nectar on her lips,
While I, a distant fruit in another grove, felt my heart’s soft, aching rips.

How I long for the cherry blossom, my heart entwined with distant dreams,
To be a fruit she might someday yearn for, beneath the moon’s gentle beams,
Yet, here I linger in the shadows, content to watch her close embrace,
Hoping one day she might desire me, though I remain in a far-off place.