Memoirs Of A Teenage Heart

Not yet. Not yet, not yet.

Not yet. Not yet, not yet.

It’s her,

with those brown eyes

of hot chocolate,

always sweet

and always warm -

It’s her,

with that birdsong laugh

and rose-blossom cheeks, 

with the sun’s kiss

across her relaxed shoulders

leaving sweet freckles

in its wake -

It’s she that you will love.

And your Winter eyes

that behold Summer suns

will follow her across the way,

and they will speak to her

in a language I understand,

but cannot respond to.

Your Autumn soul

will feel the caress of her fingers,

and she will hold sunlight.

I only hope she knows that.

But you’ve caught me, too,

in those stormy eyes

that lull me out to sea -

           It isn’t meant to be,

And I only hope that I learn that.

But for now, 

I shan’t finish this poem

because I wish to be carried away,

and be taken by those storms

just a little more -

Even at our end,

I want to hold you

for just a little longer