Directed to one so young,
Adored far beyond mere primal urges,
By eyes either cursed or gifted,
To adore the traits of the seed,
Long before it officially flowers,
(When afforded the chance.)
Such notice will assuredly and forever,
Willingly water the plant,
Long after its whimsical bloom subsides.
When an old primal urge become but a token,
Validated yet never confirmed,
Hidden away as proof in ramshackle scrapbook.
Saved by scent alone, through which sharp naivety,
Knew it was likely on to something,
Worth documenting and saving for later.
Bitterness and its mortal tokens of sincerity,
A treasure of life not dared unearthed.
Despite all fears,
Something past still wreaking of forbidden sincerity,
And a noble shame such as those like us shall never forget,
All these years later
Becomes a flash of exiled treasure,
Her first spontaneous hand-made gift she used to tell that you were special were special to her.
And she never stopped adoring you,
Despite knowing the real you,
And no matter what the world insisted.
Lifepause With Dated Drawing: