/lit/ - Literature

Pretty awful, but not as bad as my scanless poem, gentlechaps -

teenage cuckoldry


I

Dishevelled across your face, hair,
like verse sung by girl and the sun,
your nude eye peeks from under there,
you notice me and find me fun.
You; gold, brown and white, blushing, too,
know not what to say, nor I, too,
in my head are third-rate verses,
and you try to bring them from me.
"I'll compare her to a flute-song,
when really she's more trumpet, though",
but you waited there, just as I,
patient for my righting of wrongs.


II

Whatever you do, betray me, please,
smile red-lipped at other boys,
whatever you do, make me want you,
notice me, with eyes thrown at me.
A blush is married to a kiss,
but always given by some boy,
silent, unspoken, as you stare,
always at me, in betrayal.
You took my flute and played it, there,
you little kissing blushing hare.