Is it wrong for me to love his eyes
To wish I was the dust that swirls through the air at the bat of his lashes
To want to be that bead of sweat the the sun spotlights as it unsteadily crawls down the back of his neck
I don't thin that anyone but me could look at him and see the poetry the way I do
I wonder what is hiding beneath that hat that always seems to be glued to his dark brown raven's nest of hair
I sit as far from him as possible but as close as I can and in my mind I smell his skin and can see the every willow wisp of hair that breaks his perfectly tanned skin.
Did I mention that he smells like orange blossoms but taste sweet and bitter like a honey suckle spray
I wish I was those stings of denim holding close the his old scarred knee...
I wonder, and wonder and wish as he walks, he walks away from me