Chaste Dreams.

Chaste Dreams.

She was my

4'2 Barbie doll,
the male

equivalent to
what young

girls dream of
when they

dress up dolls.

Mine was always
somewhat

undressed,
in my youthful longings.

She lived

c

atty-

cornered
from me

across the street.
Her porcelain flesh,
and wide

innocent eyes
often lured

me to

her door,
but innocence

was a

glass dome
that separated us.

Nevertheless

I window
shopped often there,
while she

seemed to blow
sweet kisses

through the pane
with her smile.

I wrote her

love poems,
anonymously

and left them
where she

would find them.
Delighting in

the fact that she

was reading my

most passionate thoughts.
But she was

just my paper doll,
cherished in

my book of dreams,

We spent

long hours together,
as I skirted

around the truth,
her brother

was my excuse
to be near her.
we played

imaginary house
for three years filled
with aching,

unrequited love.

Then my

family moved
away on

a sunny day,
and I last saw her
standing on her porch.
Her perfect

hand posed
in a sad goodbye,
and the gleam

of teardrop
gracing her

never kissed face.