The Baker's Daughter
From the back of the bakery she would watch him,
Watch Him daily as he came to taste and see what was good.
The cakes her papa would make, for his sake.
Would melt in his mouth, then would light up her eyes,
Ignite her insides,
But from the back of the bakery, she’d remain in adoration.
In the chaos of the streets, she would duck and she’d dive,
As she followed to see what he does in his day.
As he’d set out on a quest to fulfill papa’s requests,
He’d whistle a song, that would tickle her lips,
Descend to her hips,
But in the chaos of the streets, She’d hide with infatuation.
In the peace of the park, She would gaze at his stance,
Imagine him meditating on important affairs,
The book that lay in the grip of his hands,
The pages caressed by his fingers, she’d giggle too much,
Blush at his touch,
But in the peace of the park, She’d stare with realization
Realization. Realization of this feeling that’s so real, I don’t want to say it but it could be love?
I remained in adoration,
I hid with infatuation,
I stared with realization,
But he never saw me there.
And as I watched him on that park bench,
He looked up with a smile,
At her,
She was not me,
As he grabbed her waste, her eyes lit up
As he leant in further, he’d tickle her lips,
And as they held hands, he would caress her fingers…
But still, from the back of the bakery, I would watch him
Broken beyond restoration.
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