Library book in hand
You’d have no idea
What seethes within him
Sleek without
Being disingenuous
Polite without
being paralysed
He writes
The truth of himself
For the barrelling swagger
Of boys who believe manhood
Is solely capacity
He is quiet
And certain
He would pull out your chair
And whisper what he
Wants to do to you
After dinner
But the women know
Their glowing glances
Reach but do not pierce
He is the prize
And the words he writes
The glimmer of light
Off precious metals
The worth he holds
Quiet until the door closes
Skin ruddied with a good shave
The coach arrives
He steps aboard
The seat next to him
Not taken or available
But should someone decide
They would like to sit with him
He would smile
Say hi and
The warm brown eyes
Offer a welcome
Seldom seen
But felt with primal
Depths
No stranger; this one. Very successfully done.
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Thank you Shaun. I really appreciate your attention
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