He had red hair one year; another, black.
He had a beard; he had a smooth, clean chin.
A fair-skinned blonde; no, olive-skinned and dark.
Broad-shouldered, muscular — or tall and thin.
We snuggled when we hugged, being of a height.
I loved to stand on tiptoe when we kissed.
Brown eyes, you say? Ah, truly, black as night.
That bright blue gaze became most sorely missed.
The loves of youth — how varied, how intense!
I loved a pretty face, a handsome form.
It took a while to learn this common sense:
what makes you hot won’t always keep you warm.
But, growing up at last, I got it right
in finding one who shone with inner light.
Submitted for Poets United's Mid-Week Motif ~ Love
(Choose an age, we are asked. What was love like then? And perhaps try a sonnet.)