Does this poem have *** appeal?
Oh don’t you know it.
It’s got green eyes, dark hair,
and a jawline that’s stoic.

It’s thickly bearded,
and has a good dress sense,
audaciously flirtatious,
and knows self-defence.

This poem’s got thick muscly arms
which look good holding babies,
and skilful, strong hands
which look soft for the ladies.

This poem smells good
even after the gym,
with a gorgeous deep voice
and gorgeous smooth skin.

It wears tight jeans
which show off its dic–
                                       tion is good,
so you can hear what it’s saying.
        But this poem has a boyfriend—
        I know, how dismaying.

He's not mine but that doesn't stop me from wishing that he was.
It doesn't stop that feeling in my stomach at the mention of his name
It doesn't stop me from watching him when he writes his name on paper
And it **** sure doesn't stop me from imagining what it would feel like to be blessed with his arms wrapped around my skin and our legs entwined
But these are those somewhat carnal thoughts that I only relish in when I'm alone.
The way he speaks- with that deep seductive voice - with such confidence and how his tongue touches his lips because of his perfect articulation drives me crazy.
It
Drives
Me
Crazy.
His swagger; the way he has a slight lean when he steps with his right foot and his hands are always held in his pockets
That makes me swoon.
His smile should be a sin.
There is no way in hell that anything on this earth should be so desirable.
But what makes him absolutely irresistible Is his mind.
That man is so intelligent with so much potential to make me his with a snap of his finger...
He book smarts transcend his street smarts so there is not a conversation you can have with him that he won't have an opinion to contribute.
This man  could easily be mistaken for a Greek god but he is so humble and so genuinely kind.
God was showing off when he made him.
But it's hard for me to imagine him and God in the same vicinity because of the way I desire him
to have his skin touching mine during all of the night hours
To have my fingers so deep in his back
To have his name be the last thing I whisper right before he sends me over the edge and brings me back again.
And to hear him promise through his clenched teeth and tight grip on my hair that he would do it over and over again
No, he's not mine though.
But you would never know that if you knew the way I see him in my mind.