Tête-À-Tête Between Supper Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Love she quipped,
And gasped
And chipped and rumpled

Her hair
Kiss my lips,
Stroke my hair,

My face,
My disgrace,
My stilettos,
My oversized hand-bags,
My immense ego,

Embrace me,
My disdain towards men,
And all of their kind,
Cradle my ideals

Love he gasped,
And chocked his hands
In his pocket full of dimes
For cigarettes and bus fares,
And he said,
Love me,
Kiss not my lips,
My hands,
My hair,
My suede jacket,
My brazen face,
Embrace my flaws,
My fears,
Send them to oblivion,
Or to an obnoxious
Read of heaven,
Caress my flaws during a
Tête-à-tête between supper,
And you’d find that
I am flawed,
But not terrible,
And so are you,
Marry me.