His laugh is impish,
His smile devilish,
He seems to have a secret
Behind his eyes.
Musicians have the best hands
After all.
It feels good to have
His eyes on me.
It feels good to look up
At him
And catch him
Looking at me.
One sided
Sideways glances
Are lonely.
To steal a moment
Of drinking in
A person’s humanity,
Catch the laugh,
The nervous chatter,
The awkward adjustment
To his bracelet,
And find him looking back at me
Makes me feel
Alive and present again.
His brief sigh
As the customers all fan out around the bar
Before he launches
Into his traditional speech,
And see him looking at me
Without the same fallacy,
The same false
Flamboyance,
Is an exhale
After holding your breath
Underwater for too long.
To see his body in the night,
To not have to worry
About who else is seeing it,
To just let it be
An art piece on display
For whoever he welcomes,
Me included,
Is so worry free
And calming.
His silver hair
Catches the lowlight.
My youthful skin
Only just of drinking age
Glowing in the night,
And I know
I shouldn’t look at him
The way I do,
But he looks like life.
Like vibrant
Life,
And I thirst for it.
I want his liveliness
To flow through my veins.
I want to wear his smile
On my neck,
Between my *******,
Or my legs...
“It makes me so mad,
Because you’re giving into the daddy issues stereotype.”
It makes me so satisfied,
To just exist
Without consequence.