He walked in, and I think my heart skipped a beat.
How could any god create this handsome man?
I only saw his face once,
But that was enough to say he was perfect.
I don't remember his eyes or if our gazes met,
But I remember his lips.
His lips were gorgeous. They suited him.
Dark as night were his locks that framed his face.
This man was carrying a skateboard.
I couldn't get my eyes off him when he stood in the lane.
He was about two heads taller than me.
I wonder how old he is?
I saw his manly hands when he bought himself an ale.
His short fingernails were painted black.
I wonder if he plays guitar...
He was speaking English.
Even though he spoke minimally, I still noticed:
His voice was perfect too.
I wonder what country he's from?
I had no idea where this man came from or where he is going.
I watched him go as he left,
His oversized clothes suited him amazingly.
My gaze followed him until it couldn't anymore.
I hope he didn't notice me,
But at the same time I hope he did.
-
Author:
Bird In Red (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 5th, 2025 15:31
- Comment from author about the poem: I don't usually write poems of strangers, but... P. S I posted this one for context to the poem "Him" I posted today. Go check it out!
- Category: Love
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments4
Passion's intrigue and the mind's fantasy blend reality with what could be. The sum is usually shy reserve. Very nice
Thank you!
This is what is good about youthful romanticism: the soul is filled with feelings, and life is painted with bright colors.
It is so, but not always.
Passion and fantasy in what could be if not so shy, lovely write
Thank you!
You are very welcome
I so enjoyed this poem. You took me back many years to a young me with very similar thoughts and feelings. Loved it.
Glad you enjoyed! Thank you!
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