It is your eyes,
The way they compliment your nose.
It is your mouth,
The little creases at it's edge.
It is the line,
That defines the ball of your cheek.
It is your head,
Like a cone to hold ice cream.
It is all those individually,
All those things combined,
Rolled into a beauty,
Of wanting you, that is the why.
Staring at you excites my loins,
Forces my hairs to stand,
Tickles me with nervousness,
Driving me to hold your hand.
I would hope to make you smile,
Not once to make you weep,
And wait for it I cannot,
The ending of this week.
Yet it is when I shall behold you,
Once more I'll kiss your face,
I bid you make it through the day,
Let time move with epic haste.
The Conundrum of Venus and Mars
The Brave Man