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His skin could be the color of coffee
by Megan LangleyHis skin could be the color of coffee
After pouring in two spoonfuls of half-and-half
For all I know.
His eyes perhaps lack ruthless ambition
Or simply gleam with the thoughts of everything
That's come to pass.
His hands are quite possibly worn and weathered
From the daily toil with a cattle-pulled plow
And a lariat.
He might move with the wisdom of an older man
Or linger in youth, not ready to give it all away
For you or me.
Yet I've never met this mystery man;
And I doubt I ever will.
But don't criticize me for what I can imagine;
The fantasy lives forever still.
05/04/2008 Posted on 05/04/2008
Copyright © 2024 Megan Langley
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/05/08 at 02:42 PM ...ahh, love your imagination, i live in mine also, sick, eh? i love this lil' saga of the mysterious man...i like the trip. charlie |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 07/29/08 at 04:29 AM Oh my! WHERE have you been hiding all these years that I did not come across such amazing similarities to my own thoughts? Oh my gosh!!! Well, actually, I buried my "dream" of this just about two years ago, and though I am in a relationship of sorts, it's not EVEN close. I love your expression here!! |
| Posted by Richard Vince on 06/04/18 at 09:17 PM a richly deserved POTD. marvellous stuff. :) |
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