Rakish Tilt

When you leaned against the doorframe,

Everything about you was slightly askew,

Like a felted fedora worn on a whim,

A dash of panache, pulled down at the brim

You, the sublime and rakish tilt to my life.

Even my photographs whisper to me

That you were a beautiful mistake,

Side-eye smile, smokes rolled in a sleeve

More Errol Flynn than today could ever believe

You, climbing a fountain to convince the world that you love me.

When you leaned against the doorframe,

You studied my form sprawled in a chair

Reading Dickens and puffing my cheeks just so

Dangling a sandal from my little toe

You, once again out of step with time and me.

With you it was ice and sunbeams,

Always a sunbeam on you, swear to God.

You even smelled like sun, like a summer beach,

Ice cracking, tumbler of Chivas in reach

You, with your hands exploring me instead.

When you leaned against the doorframe,

You seemed solid as the house, itself.

I lean there when I miss you, and I see

The world stands straighter, smelling like me

Me, wanting you more than the air I breathe.

Reviews

[Paul in the Buff]

This one leaves me breathless.

[Joli Dy]

That makes me happy.

[Perdition]

I sipped on bourbon, opened the shades, and tilted my eyes and mind on this one. "Ice and sunbeams"...how well they do mix for a bit, all things melting which is that doorframe and more. Who would lean but to dwell on a statement or wonder, " What exactly are you ?" To study the lines and openings, to decide whether to stay or leave but maybe before they do...A beautiful missing of a "straightening".

[Joli Dy]

Your reviews are a delight. Thank you for always making me think.

[Perdition]

An absolute pleasure, of course, "Talent on this measure is quite rare".