My First Crush

I sit there alone on the stone bench,
Under the tree, blowing off the dust.
I breathe the scent of the spring,
As I talk to the aged surfaces.

I have grown old, but I still feel her.
The sneak-peek at her blue skirt.
Her slim legs and smooth skin.
Her fickle heart and heat within.

The joy in her fluky touch.
Her casual pat on my arm.
Her intimacy so warm.
Her playful gestures and charm.

I remember the dimple on her cheek,
The pretty lips when she tried to speak.
Those few days I used to rush,
Just to sit with her, my first crush.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Deepak Janardhan

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
My name is Deepak Janardhan. I live in Bangalore and work for IBM as a Technical Writer. I started writing at the age of 20 years and since then writing has been the love of my life. I am a passionate writer, a hobbyist photographer, an incessant learner and eternal dreamer.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "My First Crush"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Nadeem Qazilbash
Member

So tastefully and tenderly depicted. Our first crush always has a special place in our hearts, and these lines do justice to those once in a lifetime feelings.

wpDiscuz

My Diary

My Diary short poem

Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the

God Of My Joy

God Of My Joy short poem

Only in God do I have the peace The love and the joy in me Only in God is there hope for This world Only in God do we seek The wonders and mercy We have in Him My God

My New Home

My New Home long poem

I feel all alone In a dark place with no sign of life Sign of life being happiness and love The dark place is in my head Cause I have created this place for myself to escape the reality The

This Is My Stay

This Is My Stay prose poem

Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay

My Ms

My Ms short poem

I mawkishly effeminate sentiment, memories plucked from wood and field merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion microscopic minuteness of eye, misgivings of grave kinds mockery crept into your tone, molded by the austere hand of adversity moments