Time and again this illusion takes hold,
The vision of your hand in mine to hold.

Your hair creeping out behind your ear,
Tempting my fingers to tuck them away.

Your lips breaking into a smile, teeth n' all,
Radiating my face with it's pure light.

but,

alas.

Illusions are all for naught, a pipe dream.

For your hand is not mine to hold,
It is his, the man I envy and hate.

The one tucking away your hair is not me,
It is him, the man that makes my fist itch.

Your sweet smile with teeth n' all,
Bathes the boy in all I wish for.