Tony can’t help but stare at the flower in her hair,
red like her cherry lips, bright and fine as her sea foam eyes.
The longing, a rolling wave crashing, retreating, to start all over again
is killing him.
The princess, absorbed in her acrobatics on the football field
does not notice him.
She never has and never will.
She is freshly picked peaches, with a dash of cream.
He is prickly bushes, a fish swimming upstream.
Up here on the bleachers, Tony dreams,
gets lost in his fantasy
while, just a little ways behind him
sits the girl who would make him happy –
except there is no flower, no short skirt
only vague indeterminate forms, hidden underneath an extra-large jumper.
Her eyes are brown, hazel for whoever bothers to get close.
Her hair doesn’t greedily catch the sun either
yet she conceals a very special brand of weird
a rare pearl beneath protective layers
while the princess on the field
conceals absolutely nothing underneath her gleaming beguiling shell.
’tis just an everyday tragedy,
there is still much to learn for Tony
learn he will eventually
once his raging hormones have taken leave of his body.
*This was inspired by a very short chat I had with Tony Single earlier tonight. Thank you, Tony – it’s not much, but since this came to me as we were talking about “inner weird”, I used your name, I hope you don’t mind 😉 *
PS: I am behind with my reading and replying to comments, I will get to it tomorrow, promise – thank you for being patient, you lovely people ❤
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