vintage car and lily

He is small with a small face and hair that falls over his brow
And he is short but extraordinarily mobile like small things are apt to be
He talk is like people smoking cigars,
His talk is like vintage cars gleaming and wonderful
And all that perfect, fine vintage talk coming out of a small man with hair that falls on his brow
And which he might toss back in a movement almost feminine, but not quite
And he walks with that cat lady, white, fair, buxom with huge blue eyes that have that quaint, faraway look of people who are pretending to listen to your chatter while they contemplate the color of your hair or perhaps like her cats she is another creature entirely.
Only he absorbs her.
And they are both like a vintage car that smokes cigars and a flamboyant lily.
Aloof, arrogant, like old renaissance paintings walking together, absorbed in each other.