He was the magician who cast a spell on me.
Whenever I caught a glance of him, my eyes followed.
He gave this bland life a sweet flavor.
I watch over him from afar,
putting a lid over the thick fog over my happiness.
He runs and maneuvers over the field,
the ball moving around his legs like he commands.
As the bell plays and the field empties,
I wish once again to be there and lend him a towel,
to wipe his sweat and fatigue from the long day that has been.
Biting down the lust,
too shy to touch his crimson cape,
too shy to have his pink lips near mine,
but at least I want to wear the same scarlet uniform,
so that I can run by his side.
Another day ends,
these feelings remain passive.
I want to tie the red string around him,
And write my own fairy tale,
where I have a happy end.
YOU ARE READING
The Ways I See RedPoetry
"Avarice was anything more than passive observation." --Ryuugamine Kiyoshi Cover picture taken by Matthew Hamilton: https://unsplash.com/@thatsmrbio?utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=photographer-credit&utm_content=creditBadge