the doe-eyed boy
and perhaps
when his eyes flickered into hers
perhaps she was carried away by the beautiful autumn and cascading spicy smell of the trees
or the hazy golden afternoons warmed into lethargy by a golden sun
or the sound of the geese, high overhead, restless with southern calling
but perhaps also the tightness in her chest
and the longing in her arms, the desperate longing to hold him
perhaps she was not bewitched by the autumn
perhaps she was only bewitched by him
and it is possible
when his eyes wandered, soft and brown like a doe's
when his eyes sought out the hurting soul in her own
it was then that she wondered if he felt it also
the strange difficult breathing and her sudden fierce longings
it was possible
but it was not meant to be
for she had been burned and she could not trust the tentative pulsing of her heart
her gentle nature
had been spoiled by careless hands
and the sweet brown-eyed boy
who would have, perhaps, liked to hold and soothe her fevered dreams
he was shut outside her dreams
altogether