I’ll write him into life – I’ve said so before
Since nothing I see is picturesque.
He’ll have the swagger of ten thousand kings
Compacted into a bravado of tenderness.
He will be my juxtaposition, somewhere left of a Viking and write like a poet.
Integrity matched only by compassion
His voice will be like thunder, his words…like rain.
I’ll be his Nefertiti
Fed and drowned in the flow of his fruits
And he’ll be everywhere, in the eyes of everyman.
His presence will command attention
Strong hands but soft to the touch
His body will spit poetry with every stride he takes
And his feet will create symphonies over concrete.
He’ll be my Shakespeare – inspiring me to make up words
Cuz what I want to say about him doesn’t even have a definition yet.
His skin will be tanned, pale, and dark semi-sweet chocolate, yellow, olive, and red like fire.
Piercing eyes will scale the rainbow and make Crayola get to work on new names and new shades.
He’ll be all about art and beauty and he’ll climb a mountain to get just the right shadow effect over my lips.
He’ll wrap the towel around his waist and let the rest of his body air dry – because he’s that giving.
He’ll find reasons to smile even when the downpour turns to hail.
And all the while, he’ll walk on the outside.
My 21st century knight. He’ll swivel me like a red and chill me like a white, drink me like I’m some rare type and admire how I age.
And with each passing moment, he’ll tattoo my heart with love and love and love and love…
He’ll lick the rain from my fingertips and splash in puddles because clean is never good enough
And he’ll step into a shower with his clothes on, giving me a reason to peel them away.
He’ll be kind to those struggling and drop a ten into a poor mans cup when he could have opted for change.
He’ll know the flavor of soda that reminds me of my father and the one good memory I have of my mother.
He’ll know the name of the one who didn’t make it and who Joshua was.
He’ll listen when it matters and even when it doesn’t.
My heating blanket in a night of cold sweats…my personal lullaby.
He’ll get why unicorns make me cry and why clowns are not just some childhood phobia.
Dressed to impress but not some label whore
And he’ll give me his earring like in The Breakfast Club except there won’t be any breast to lip liner action.
He’ll jam out when the old school shit comes on, never letting fear hold him back from a laugh.
We’ll dance when our song plays and I’ll giggle when he says, “you tell anyone about this and I’ll…”
The life of the party without drowning in a pool of people
He’ll shine even when it’s dark in a room.
The scars on his body will tell stories words cannot dictate.
He’ll know how many beauty marks I have by heart and be able to draw my birth mark from memory
Because he pays attention to more than tits and ass.
He’ll teach me something and feed a hunger I never knew existed.
He’ll wow me over a seven course meal he attempted and failed at
Better yet, he’ll order out and try to pass it off like he’s a master chef.
He’ll search for a signed copy of my favorite book And know the significance of the fire escape and those cookies…My king, my love, I have yet to write you into life, to inject the first signs of air into breathless lungs.
But I will…And he will leave me wanting more
Eager to know his favorites, his dislikes, his aspirations
And how many times he changed his career as a six year old, coloring outside of the lines.
I’ll set my alarm because I want to be awake at 2:37am on a Thursday morning just so I know that face he makes when he’s dreaming. Wanting the lights on always, so I can bask in it.
Wanting the lights off always, so I can see him solely with my fingertips. I’ll try to memorize the thesaurus so I know thirteen different ways to say “happy””
And then I’ll add on seven more. I’ll wanna scream because he makes me laugh so hard I can’t ever stay mad
And I’ll melt like butter because he sent flowers again with those four words that shatter anyone else’s sad dozen red roses with a cookie cutter “I Love You.”
Lost somewhere between wanting to keep my eyes open while we kiss so I can watch heaven or close them and go there
We’ll stare at a painting and look at it from every angle until closing time and walk out of there saying…”I don’t get it,”
Ask “what do you think,” and care if I answer.
Until he exists, I’ll write him into life
And inject air into breathless lungs.
And when we cross paths
He’ll know my words to be true…
“I loved you before I knew you.”