Saturday, May 16, 2009

Spare Me the Bravado

I'm the quiet type,
not big on braggadocio...
somewhat pleasing to look at
if that's your calling-
I don't think much about it.

I like up like neon
in the lowered lights,
hummed in purring, 
staring dare... eyes open,
watching... no baby-talk and coo,
I don't do cute.

I want the gentle man
who keeps me guessing...
no need to impress or 
pronounce every thought.
Deliver me from the macho,
only the small need to shout.

The quiet ones like us forgo
the chattering drivel, while
the bold and overt flaunt
their gifts, neglecting nuance.

He will know my body better
than I do, my thinker can tease
to a frenzy, we will wile for hours
in the foreplay of living...

Then when a sultry message, wink,
and crooked smile seep out,
my quiet one will take my hand
and lead me to words outside
my imagination...
I will respond in reciprocation. 

I've practiced in the silence
of poetry, abstracting the mundane,
building a fortress of passion for
the one who feels, watches, shares
the burning desire at the temple
of temptation.

I am man enough for myself,
no boundaries here...
Keep your bravado away-
it's a scratch on the song;
grating to a bundle of nerves
that won't be found in the 
mysterious worlds of the silenced.


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