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