At Seventeen

That awful sound,

the ringing bells of a twisted victory,

casts a darkness in our youthful cheeks,

and it burns so bright,

like a light bulb with a bad idea.

And when your guilt touches my skin,

its disturbance,

such a bittersweet gesture,

causing a breathless sigh,

a haunted response

to your illegal pleasure.

It's the heat of the moment,

and your name

is honey to my ears,

irresistible to the devil

that lurks around in my mind,

letting me fall in love with you again.

Your signature move,

it's the constant wailing

of the broken heart within me,

the mating call of a boy who's been in the isolation of my love,

far too deep,

and far too long.