On Cin

Men’s heads turn when she walks in the room,
and I’m the only one that can make her swoon,
with the tableau tapestries I weave with my words,
with the smiles that make her kitten purr,
with penetrating stares that make her mind unfurl,
with laughing longly so the days seem like a Tilt-a-Whirl.

People look and they don’t understand,
why when we walk we’re holding each other’s hand,
“That man’s mediocre,” they say, but that’s okay,
because I see what they’d trade to be me for a day.

To be with this damsel,
Delilah sans shears,
who sees a peer,
from seductive glances to eyes that can subside all fears.

What are years but
yardsticks to measure out a body
when they have no impact on
precisely what the heart sees, hardly.

She finds me hearty, harbinger of hallowing,
that deserves a following, an uncallow thing,
marshmallow dream-boat, a pillow-top to lay on,
a brightening of day like a brand new box of crayons.

And I could lay it on, but now my lips are distracted,
praising skin, from within without, wherever they find themselves attracted,
like a lung hit, deep, she has me holding breath,
got my spirit lifted, thrilling in the chest,
the look behind her eyes has me straight delirious.

Feel her softly filling gaps I’d grooved out with my drips of worry,
sitting with her puts a stopper in my most profane of hurries,
so surly rapscallion that slanders unintent’lly
is on the run, is but a ting felt faintly,
painting prismatic sheen that gleams within her sphere of light,
Because when I’m with Cin? Yeah, everything is gonna be all right.


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