It’s the way your eyes sparkle
When you sight me
That holds your heart displayed to the world
With my name tattooed
Without a care in the world.
It’s the little beads of sweat
That adorn your nose
Like diamonds on glass
Little drops of pleasurable tension
When you listen to me talk
Conveying interest
None can rival.
It’s not my name, it’s the way you call it
It’s not the vowels; it’s the report on my ears
Its what it does
The waves it creates
And the distinction it makes
From the hundreds of females I have known.
It’s the way I matter
The way you defer to me
The way you let me lead you
The astonishing manner you jump at my requests
The Teutonic speed between ask and do
And how my counsel is like prophecy
In your life.
It’s the way your friends look at me
The obvious evidence
Of awe, pique and green
That speaks and blares
The content of your discourses.
It’s that feminine air
That would rather go six feet
Than lose me
Cold water on all our fights
Craze that’s glaring
Affection with a whistle
A definite package.
I feel you, well.
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