deepundergroundpoetry.com

I remember him standing.

I remember him standing.

In a corner of warm woods and cold concrete.
His surroundings speak of him as clearly as he does,
Gemini by design.
design by Gemini.

I remember him standing.
Sneakers on.
Speakers on.
Jeans and a t-shirt incognito not working
against his inherent sex appeal,
when they hang perfectly off his rock edges and rugged cliffs.
Leaving no hope for low-key.

I, writing
but distracted by his aura and his energy.
I've been captured and he�s not even looking at me.

I want him to look at me,
so I can lock eyes and try to distract him my way.
To convince him with lip bitten bedroom eyed looks
to just
take a step or two in my direction.

I don�t want him to look at me.
Because when he moves so naturally
going about his tasks in this room,
but in his head
in this warm concrete corner
he is powerful somehow
and I am powerless somehow.
Our places set and our roles fit.

Authentically somehow.

He is my real thing.
Man just stands and
I can�t move, I can�t think, I can�t break away.

All I feel are my heavy lungs laboring breath
so I might survive this intensity.
My chest heaving,
heavy breathing,
disbelieving,
in this take me thing.

He�s just standing

But I'm powerless to his real thing power over me.