You were lovesick over her,
but she was out of your class,
on a different plane,
different ideas and values,
but you were lovesick over her.
Wrote her too many letters
over too few days
when she was away,
and you so lovesick
you couldn't eat
or relax or read
and only music fed
your hunger for her.
She brought you back
a postcard
by some Russian artist
and you pinned it
to the door of your room,
and had the one photograph
she gave you framed
like some work of art
and you'd gaze at it
listening to Mahler,
looking towards
a future with her
you knew you wouldn't have
not in a thousand days.
You were lovesick over her,
over her bright eyes
and long hair,
and those tight,
but small *******
you never saw,
but hoped to,
but never did,
just the outline
propped up behind
the jumper or tee shirt.
You were lovesick over her
but she went off
and the sickness eased
and went away
and you never saw her
another day.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
You were lovesick over her,
but she was out of your class,
on a different plane,
different ideas and values,
but you were lovesick over her.
Wrote her too many letters
over too few days
when she was away,
and you so lovesick
you couldn't eat
or relax or read
and only music fed
your hunger for her.
She brought you back
a postcard
by some Russian artist
and you pinned it
to the door of your room,
and had the one photograph
she gave you framed
like some work of art
and you'd gaze at it
listening to Mahler,
looking towards
a future with her
you knew you wouldn't have
not in a thousand days.
You were lovesick over her,
over her bright eyes
and long hair,
and those tight,
but small *******
you never saw,
but hoped to,
but never did,
just the outline
propped up behind
the jumper or tee shirt.
You were lovesick over her
but she went off
and the sickness eased
and went away
and you never saw her
another day.
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