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Saeed Koushan | + Follow Poet |
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When Little Boys Fall in Love

A Meditation on Growing Up

[Age 5] — The Sand Kiss

You hated when someone kissed your nose,
I buried you deep where the warm sand grows.
Then stole a kiss beneath the sky,
The waves clapped soft as we said goodbye.

I. [Age 6] — First Light

Your nails chewed down to rosy tips,
Sorting bottle caps with careful grips.
I offered you my father's crown so bright,
You slipped it in your pocket out of sight.

II. [Age 7] — The Promise

Beneath sheets stretched 'tween two old chairs,
Your breath smelled sweet, like summer fairs.
You whispered secrets in the cotton night,
"We promised our hands would never part."

III. [Age 8] — First Mercy

Gravel dug deep into my palm,
You kissed the stones, and stung turned calm.
Salt and copper burned my skin,
Your tender lips made healing begin.

IV. [Age 9] — The Communion

You bit the apple, passed it near,
Your marks of teeth I held so dear.
We rode our bikes at eight each day,
The air was cool, the streets were gray.

When cousins came, I stood my ground,
"I won't see you," I said, safe and sound.
"You might come tomorrow," you softly cried,
I shook my head, my pride held tight.

V. [Age 10] — The Fracture

"He throws things when the bottle's bare,"
You traced the rusted gate with care.
Your voice cracked like the hinges old,
I counted heartbeats, sharp and cold.

VI. [Age 11] — The Shift

Two knocks: your father's footsteps near,
Three knocks: the coast was safe to steer.
But when they cornered me at school,
You looked, then vanished, silent, cool.

VII. [Age 12] — The Breaking

Your mother combed your hair with care,
Pressed close beneath the Sunday air.
"They say boys like us should never—"
Your eyes went dark; mine caught the fever.

VIII. [Age 13] — The Aftermath

I passed your house at every dawn,
Counting steps since you were gone.
Forty-seven to the old front tree,
Where you yawned beneath the sky, carefree.

The truck arrived that Thursday morn,
Your mother waved; my heart was torn.
Inside the tree, a note I read:
"Some friendships aren't worth what's said."

Coda — Forty Years Later

Sometimes I wake to phantom knocks—
Two, then three, then silence blocks.
I hold the crown, the rusted cap,
And taste the day I closed the gap.

If I could ride those streets once more,
I'd stand where we once said goodbye,
Tell you how a boy's cruel pride
Can kill the love he keeps inside.

Some hungers taste the love we lost.

Copyright © Saeed Koushan | Year Posted 2025

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