POEM:

Standing at the back of the cafe
With proud beard and
warm smile
The Gentleman finds me.

Striding over and
offering a hand
he is present and sturdy
with an openness to careful possibilities.

Interest worn with flair
like the dashing scarf
carefully draped around
his shoulders.

Eyes like tempered glaciers
connect with mine
and draw me in.

With upturned hand he glides me effortlessly towards him,
meeting my lips with
honor and awe

His strong,
weathered hands
hold me delicately.

Hands that bend
day in and day out
to the merciless will
of survival.

Hands that play with
tangles in my hair
loosening my laughter.

Joking aside
and ever-present
we twirl through a waltz
of questions and
more questions.

Artists, authors,
suffering and
serenity,
the meaning of life and the magic of miracles
are all sampled and shared at our table.

He stands, stoically sensitive,
Ever balancing the weight of Desire and Duty

Hubris kept under
his hat
lest it go to
his head

Masculine sensitivities
flooded with fantasies
conservatively filtered
through a sieve
of traditional propriety.

He moves with
graceful generosity
hoping for nothing
other than
a compassionate mirror
to return his interest.

Drawing from the
well of discipline that
informs his integrity
he battles the
pitfalls of man

Day-by-day finding
meaning
in madness
and in love.