Seventeen
what a terrible age to be
when you were skipping in between nineteen and twen-ty

Soul mate status
you became,
tattered charm
barely onto second names

But you spoke and it grasped me
something strong
too lovelorn and lame
we went on-

Romanticising the grainy photographs
the first date talk
the promise of touch
from a distant walk

Compliments thrown around like
greetings
and it terrified me
all those would-be meetings

That rush that turned out
too intense
and the explosive goodbyes
to false pretence

But there were no real goodbyes
you just left my town
so that was the high
and this,
the comedown