There are no flies on you,

for the moment,

just as there are no ties on me

no knot to choke me with

should that be your choice

in which to strangle, to suffocate,

to shift me from vision, no tie,

no fasten except the criss-cross

of emotions that we share, some that bond

with the same sensation of the first kiss

that two teenagers share in an open field

in secret but with all knowing

about it by the time

the final bell rings and clangs with rusty

imperfection and the clashing of unknowing tongues,

some are the last kiss they share, the ties that bind

passionless as the blemish of age

and social strata in the town demands

the end reel of this picture show;

one golden and glorious, now never shown

again, the blemish damaged, discoloured

and destroyed as all teenage

kisses are apt to be…

 

…the teenage bind, lives in me with you

and your stain is faultless, mine takes hold

and colours my vision, too bright;

now blind.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016