Beyond Manhattan

Little Star

The boy who first kissed my virgin lips,

Kissed more than my mouth,

He kissed my soul,

And awoke it from a slumber, 

As if it were a cursed maiden 

With lips in need of his.

He kissed the budding rose of my desire, 

Coaxing it into blooming.

Expectations of dalliance,

Escalated into a love made for the silver screen.

He was my silver screen.

I danced in front of him silently,

With Cupid's bow lips 

And my eyes always on his. 

I was his "little star" he would say.

Yet after each game he played,

As beleaguered as I was,

I knew that I would stay.