we always met at the old sycamore tree when we need to talk?
it's was your teenage angelic smile that kissed me like the night's snow.
pale.
porcelain.
two blue eyes and my heart melted for the first time.
underneath the twisted sap oozing branches the sweetness you tasted in the air.
like fall's indelible kiss as your sandy brown long hair caressing your shoulders as I wanted to take you.
but what does a fifth grader know about love?
nothing but a thousand love notes that ached gently at your soul yet I wanted to touch you.
your porcelain soft skin.
I wanted you so bad.
as my hormones raged like a fire swallowing me whole.
yet there was watchful eyes and the sycamore tree.
limbs whining.
leaves dancing to poetically in the wind.
a sweet richness kissing my cheek as I wished in many ways was you.
as the urge to make out with you overwhelmed me in more than one way.
wrinkled creaks in the old tree were like a safe haven where me and you could be ourselves.
yet I died every time you walked away.
the sway I often ached to draw you near from.
and kiss your breath away.
yet our love was doomed.
yet I died just to live.
to not wither like the old tree.
yet watchful eyes followed us.
cruel eyes insult us.
yet they dared to want us to part ways.
the agony of youth.
though I loved you fame had it's toil on me.
yet I ached as our fingers parted
and wild flowers left to winter.
yet I ached every time I saw you smiling and happy without me.
as I wither.
wasting away.
never to see you again at the old sycamore tree.
yet my heart lingered.
yet to never be free.
yet the only thing that haunts me now is you and me.
©darkdeity
D