Her skin is
Apple flesh white,
He watches with yearning taste buds.

She is young,
New to the world,
Fresh and pure.

He can tell by the way she walks
That she carries no burdens,
Free,
Never been touched,
Sweet, small
Perfection.

He longs to see every bit of her
Smooth the creases of her eyelids
And press his nose against
The nook where her arm bends.

Peel off the layers,
Admire the crevice
Between her budding breasts.
They are small and not yet the mounds they will be,
Shaped and not quite ripe,
The crevice will grow with age
But for now they are pale,
Never been touched by sunlight,
Dark berry nipples.

She wears bright colors,
Daring the attention,
Her hair is cropped short,
Feathering along the back of her neck,
Each smooth curve
Where bones meet
Is inviting,
Directing him to keep watching,
Keep yearning.

Walking with a swivel,
This is fun to her,
A latent charm
That unleashed itself with a bat
Of her eyelashes.

She has yet to understand
The dangers of lingering eyes,
She is the perfect target,
Living in a spiral
Of tainted innocence.