Young

Those beautiful locks of yours,

Cover your face like a shroud.

Resting on your shoulders, they garland your smile.

 

Those hips of yours,

Make me feel like a missionary.

Those curves of yours,

Make me go down on all fours.

 

Those eyes of yours, they

Float like a butterfly, and,

Those lips of yours, they

Sting like a bee.

 
Should I make the first move?

Or, should I wait and resent?

 

Should I try and say it?

Or, should I cross over to my avenue of heartbreaks?

 

Screw it, I'll just go do it.

 

While my blood still boils.

While I can still move on.

While I'm still young.

(2017)