Sunday, November 30, 2014

Man of Might


"Turned Away" graphite on paper by Cristina Querrer

I only want company of mighty men. 
Not of bronze and steel but with flesh 
that is palpable, of unrefined sugar,
whose eyes, deep olives, unpitted. 
A beard of soft shells that rub 
my side, lulling me to sleep. 
He, exquisite bites that enlarges
my hunger. No statue of David,
or Troy can compare—my mighty man
bares all too, more than
leonine loins of antiquity, more than
paltry weekends that leave me
by the roadside on Monday.
He, tender transitions of the day,
lounging on my porch, smoking
his cigar, singing songs of me.
This brave, brave man of sandstone
and sea, will wear my poetry
on his person at all times,
has a disposition of a thousand virtuosos,
sketches lavish plans to remain,
like daVinci.

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