She slipped into her satin swimsuit

with spaghetti straps, so thin

they laced over her shoulders, tugging

on her smooth brown skin

She sat on the diving board, soaking in the sun

her chest, a gorgeous, soft mystery

inside her wet wonderland

her red bikini, showing off, her navel

an innie, I wanted to explore

She was 17, I was 12

I have never wanted a woman that bad

She had

curly blonde hair

two inches past her shoulders

an amber hair-clip

holding love, above her head

her whole body, tugging, on knots and bows

threatening to violate

a pre-teen boy

to be older

to hold her

to hear her laugh,

melodious, and cruel

her legs flowing, into the pool

her black sunglasses, cool

her crimson lipstick, wanting to be kissed

butterfly frills, dancing, on her bottom

as she walked, like a cat

unafraid of water

a woman of youth

a goddess

to worship

to have her at 12

is an old man’s dream

to be with several women

is to never know her

her blue eyes, bluer than the sky

her nails, painted by the pool

I never spoke to her

I had pimples

Years later, she married a man with an MBA

I watched him shaving, one day

when I was 16

tall, good-looking, and casual, in the mirror

admiring his appearance

He could not appreciate her, not like me

“Honey, breakfast is in two hours,” he said.

“I’ll be there,” she sang

It hurts me still, to want her

I cannot have her

only when I was 12, and she was 17

pain is better, than no pain at all

A boy must commit, a crime of passion, to know her

My hat goes off to him

it takes balls

then, she will never forget

she never knew me.