Splendid Poem by Wicked Pissah

I love your boots,
perfectly contoured.
I never tire of pausing
a thought or conversation
to watch you walk that way.

Taking in your subtle sway.

You look splendid.
Cut gems flicker,
eyes speckle-flecked.
Blonde curls and swirls,
It is you, so you.

Martinis, staircase and pulled sheets.

Johnny Walker Black
with a lazy lemon twist,
a smile appears above
the rim, slowly sipping
dark amber on the rocks.

Bless you, Mr. Walker.

The bar seats are taken,
and at times I can’t
follow your soft voice
above the background snarl.
More reason to lean in close.

Can’t keep my eyes off the red.

Delicious low lighting
obscures rivals checking
you out, their men stand
about, pondering why can’t
mine be you, so you.