Saw you at a conference, stared,
I’m afraid, into your dark brown eyes;
shortish, compact not skinny, hair
buzzed short under cap with visor;
shorts, T-shirt faded red, soft-spoken.
I could offer a poem as token
of the love I could cultivate,
if I could take you on a date.
You’d be kind in bed, I know,
and even sweeter to wake up to;
you’d say the words I’d need to hear,
or just hold me warmly near.
You would melt me with those eyes;
after fights we’d compromise.
You’re not the kind for single nights;
with one like you, I could make a life.
T. Allen Culpepper