Classic Scene. Sometimes parodied or imitated. Marilyn was The Babe of the 20th Century.

Eros magazine was a hard bound quarterly published by Ralf Ginzburg. For $25 a year you could get highbrow pornography delivered to your door by a uniformed employee of the federal government.
I have three of the four issues before they dared to publish pictures of an interracial couple and the feds pulled the plug on the magazine.
Autumn, 1962, Volume One, Number three, features the last Marilyn Monroe photo studio shoot taken just six weeks before<s> she was murdered with a poison suppository</s>,……er, I mean, uh…. her death.
She had gone through the transparencies and marked, with an orange magic marker, the photos she didn’t like but they printed them all in the magazine, complete with her markings. She’s a bit slimmer than she was earlier and absolutely stunning.
Babe of the 20th century, indeed. :drool:

June's Beginning
 

My heart bleeds for you
she who makes it skip
she who cares for me,
she, the one I care for.
Tears come to my eyes
as each day I pass without her.
The broken heart bleeds.

Can it be mended? Ah, yes
but someone has to tend it.
Someone has to care for it.
That someone could be her
Should be her
Might be her.
Will be her.
Hopefully, her.

Come summer’s break
a path will open
one of hope
my hope.

On this path she may tread
towards the arms
of the one who loves her.

Emotion Not Returned
 

I long to hold her in my arms
to brush my finger across her face
and stare her into eyes forever.
I wish to hold her closely
oh, to kiss those lips
to feel her warmth against mine
and run my fingers playfully through her hair
I know not what I would do with myself.
Would I die?
Would it just seem like it?

If she knew the way I felt
more than just knowing I like her
what I write
what I long to tell her
would she be afraid?
Or would she embrace?
Would she be with me?

If only that could be!
But I know
it may never be.

So many question I know may never be answered.
I know I should not get caught up
with what does not exist
but I cannot help myself.
Is it loneliness, despair, discontent?