Infatuation

She stood, waiting for the train.

Oblivious to moisture from the rain.

I couldn’t help but to stare.

Brown curls, thick, luscious hair.

I could taste her lips.

Oh but to move with those hips.

More than a crush.

A middle-aged man’s infatuation.

Oh, what a rush.

The train pulled in.

I stare hard through the foggy din.

Off the tram went.

In an instant, my heart bent.

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This entry was posted in Love and tagged .

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