Sitting in your arms,
I feel protected.
People pass by,
looking rejected.

Remembering the scent,
of the cologne you wear.
The way your hair bent,
sends shivers down my spine.

Holding you tightly,
I feel your shirt.
You are mine rightly,
disregarding all of the jealous.

You breath trickles,
down my neck.
The scent of pickles,
surrounds but we don’t mind.

Looking in your eyes,
everyone turns to a blur.
Seeing other guys,
does not have to phase me.

The final buzzer sounds,
it passes without phasing me.
I feel so jolly,
I feel like I am Smee.

The players walk by,
whistling their happiness bout there win.
Cheering as if we weren’t there,
they throw their bottles in the trash bin.

Even though the game is over,
we sit in the bleachers all alone.
We sit as still as Mars Rover,
then slowly start toward the gate.