A tale of A.      (A life competition)

He was 6"4 and a charming delight,
on the eye I mean, not in the lingo -
all slap-arse and tongue in cheek.
Fuck knows how it happened,
whether it was walking down a street
or between meeting places on the square,
whether his fair ways curved my eye
or whether he was sly in his matters of persuading.
Goodness knows it was never planned
and the heart fanned over the idea for half the year
for dear, sweet, fears of broken vessels
and the mess that could or might be made.
He paid his respects over dinner, without spectacles
and, from my perspective, good eyesight is important.
While sleeping soundly in my bed,
the thoughts delivered themselves to my head after reading
and planting seeds of slapped arses and tongue in cheek humour
the rumour built within me that perhaps a feeling was growing. Yes, growing while it was snowing outside the window pane, and the snowing grew to knowing, yes, knowing that he was what I needed -
at least my body told me so
as I closed my eyes and felt the glow
from the south to the north, from the north to south
and it lingered like a buzzing
fuzzing over any doubt
until I could honestly spout
how the prospect in my thighs
felt just as good behind the eyes
and the idea of his face
was something I could place in the future of my plans,
yes, any future I could scan he could be there
and it was fair and it was optimum and premium and almost a Godly existence. Yes, after his persistence the words were out and singing
as Scrooge on Christmas morn
and as the dawn began to rise I ran to his dorm and told him how my body mourned for him
although it had never felt him
and he satisfied my need
and oh my, did he feed my appetite
for the light
became the day and the day became the night and in his bed we stayed and in my head he stayed and there, lay my heart to it, I was rested and content.