I cannot remember her face
She was my biology teacher at eighteen
With the tense wait of seduction
In her limbs, the feast on youth
Through golden binoculars
I used to sit, looking at the
Golden chain near her blonde hair
And everything around her
Used to burst into song
At the end of an avenue
Was her smile, I know she was kindness
Her body the buttons of immature eyes
Like blind fingers vaguely aroused
By a feminine voice, like a soldier’s
Last memory of love, before war
I cannot remember her face
The lion of her Madonna of stealth
That lifted my erogenous Genesis
To a good-natured grin, the touch
Of a fragrance that could only mean
Celebration, a great rose of a nipple
That my adolescence could only imagine.
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/arch-412281192
Wuji Seshat 
Awesome!! Hmmm… as a biology teacher myself… very interesting π
Haha hilarious!
I once had a crush on my english teacher.He must have known it then coz he used to sang for me “Be My Lady”… π
The memory of voices is haunting me, I’m just so damn sensitive to them…
A singing teacher!
Oh, haha yeah why not, I can call him that, though it was a long time ago…high school days. π
This stirs the memory of my adolescent self and makes me smile.
Yeah I had the same stirring after I penned it, it made me smile sheepishly!
I had this with my art teacher, who ended up writing me a love letter when I graduated
Reblogged this on Life, Lyrics, Poetry and Humor..