I Paint, or (This is Me Saying I’m Attracted to You)

His face is broad,
and maybe that’s
why I like it,
with a forehead
for smarts;
as wide
as the Serengeti
I have not tempted
to cross
myself, yet,
but I imagine the
wild beasts
who’d lurk there
amongst the tall
and swaying grasses,
set low and crouched,
where I would never
see them, nor know
of there existence,
for in safety
I would pass
between two eyes
and evenly set
that I might
describe them
as two; twin fawns,
with ears twitching
at my existence
though calm
as they watch,
while I come to rest
beneath the branches
shaded, for his nose
stands straight
as though a tree,
where in it
two turtle doves
have come to rest,
to lull me to sleep,
as though his mouth
like silken wing
could hold me
like a hammock,
his voice soothes me so,
I dare not speak
of the chiseled rock;
his chin,
I must descend.

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