Stolen longing is benign.
Yet she wonders how it would feel
To smooth a lock from his head,
And envelop in a sweet embrace.
There would be sweetened kisses,
Some small, some lame
But all a droplet of desire
That she hungered to feel.
She would give a million caresses
To teach what her heart knows.
Twenty, thirty touches
Just to be shyly close.
A growing, festering love
That imagined a passioned state,
And fervent eyes, clasping fingers,
Perhaps some little cries.
They could teach each other well
Of all slippery feelings, discarded woes,
And a thing or two of bodily love.
With trimmings of a virgin blush.
She sighs, with wishes and regret
Knowing passion pleas
Are too unwise.
The lover is not his lover yet.
