I want a man who is a Poet…
A man who reads….
Who writes…
Who recites…and understands.
A man who quotes verses
Studies…rehearses…
Reasons and rhymes in churches about universes near and far.
I want to velvet lounge around naked with him on Sunday mornings with sunrise and cigarettes and books… Gwendolyn Brooks…
Pour coffee or steep tea with Nikki Giovanni… Play Simon Says with Sonia Sanchez…
Feast on green eggs and ham and Phyliss Wheatly sweetly caressed all before time to watch Charles Osgood on CBS.
A man with the swag of Saul Williams who can slam me like Marc Smith and still touch me easy, like the little cat feet, from Carl Sandburg’s village.
I want a man who knows Shakespeare wore a ring in his ear and that Dunbar was a dude who would never push a girl down the stairs at a high school.
I want a man who carries a notebook everywhere he goes, with sharpened pencils and a fountain pen and he must be smarter than his phone.
A visionary with a dictionary always open…
He doesn’t have to be a Taurus but he must have a thesaurus even if he doesn’t need it – cuz hell, I might wanna see it!
I want a man who will cook me ox tails, mix me cocktails and read me Canterbury Tales while I paint my toenails the color of Robert Burns’ Red Red Rose…
I suppose I won’t even cuss or fuss when he leaves the seat up.
Edgar Allen Poe, Alexander Pope and Karl Shapiro will sit at our table next to Eleanor Rigby and Rocky Racoon.
I will swoon everytime I see him.
When he lays me I will moan E…E… Cummings…
Thy Rhythmic Lover
DAMN
That’s the Brother I could really sink my teeth into…
On the Pulse of Morning with him, my Caged Bird will sing!