On my mind like a child
I'm occupied by your thoughts
all the time
yet it's beautiful
For in age we become immune
to the sensation of infatuation
harden to the joys of spontaneous jubilation
afraid of new and untamed admiration's
skeptical of the possibilities of future sensations.
So we lie.
Deny ourselves the opportunity to grow
deny our hearts the opportunity to know
true love void of ambiguous connotation
true passion strong as the crave of starvation
Thus I ache
hunger pains for your taste
growing pains caused by stretching of patience to wait
for you to become mine
although you are an extension of me
you belong to another
this menage et to is cumbersome.