New York Strip Poem by Belle Violet

I didn't like New York accents
or the Yankee boys that owned them.
Had you asked me what I wanted,
I'd say a good ole' Southern man.
Then his shoes hit the concrete,
and my stomach hit the floor.
Through rain and dark glasses,
I watched him
stroll with his bravado, and look!
What gray hair!
I melted so fast
you could pour me
like wax.
Black brows framed his honey brown eyes
and dark hair circled round
thin soft lips that I found
laying kisses against my skin later.