The way he walks
Is really quite
Something
Undulations,
A gentle sway;
The waves on a Bollywood
Beachfront
Skin a pretty shade
Of mysterious nutmeg
And eyes that
Vary in the light
Between ebony
And all the shades
That chocolate candy
Could possibly be
His lashes are quite
Something too
The kind of things
I thought
Only stuck-up-make-up stores
Would sell to pretty hookers
Looking from
That sideways glance
Like a sacred cow
About to charge
Me Interest;
I find myself
Utterly engaged
In admiring the pure beauty
Of that Perfect surface
So many people
Always speak
Most boringly of
"Inner beauty"
The great cliché they say
To those they really think
Are ugly but want something from.
My dear
Do not allow
Yourself to be deceived
By that which
They speak of so mistily
For I shall be
The lover that will give you
The complete freedom
To be as shallow as you
Could ever wish to be
Don't worry
About "expressing your heart"
You need not speak what's in it.
Empty or full it hardly effects
Your topology.
I couldn't care less
About your fancy degree
Or about how smart
You were in physics class.
Your intelligence
Is but the cherry on
My hot fudge Sunday.
Your originality
Is completely unnecessary
As is your pocketbook
To my satisfaction.
I really don't care
If you'd enjoy
spending hours on
Your hair and
And on your styles
I really don't mind
Whether it is truth or lies
That emerge from your
Graceful, curvaceous mouth
And I don't mind
With whom you dance
Or where you toss
Your pretty hairs.
I hardly care
that when we fight
You still check the mirror
Before storming away
And even if someday
you lose your looks.
And your samba walks
can no longer bounce; and you
can no longer sway.
I cannot express to you
How much I will still love thee
Oh Indique boy!
'Let me count the ways! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem