waiting

and the little girl waits

for her first touch,
her first look
that slide of finger,
that scrape of palm

and she waits

for the thrill
and the frill
of her dress makes her stumble
for she was looking at him
and not where she was going

and she's still looking at him
and not where she is going

and the little girl waits

for her first roses
her first kiss

not knowing that roses are just flowers
a false sentiment
of red red love

and a kiss is sometimes just a kiss
a press of lips
a touch of tongue
devoid of emotion
absent of feeling

lust

passionate
hot
strong
empty
lust

and she waits

and i wait

and it's killing me, slowly.