she smiles at me

laughing with delight

and sensual longing

despite

a line

that will never be crossed

she’s older, and attractive

You wouldn’t know her age

until seeing her hands

they belong to a witch

her sunburned head

her freckled scalp

her hair, turned gold

a playful voice

girlish,

with nurturing giggles

She’s young

and interested

I can make her laugh

she teases and torments

with sensual sadism

running her hands

through my hair

I belong to her

while she drives me home

on a summer Wednesday

after school lets out

for good.