He, a gruff and rugged man,
like rasped aged wood, the contours
barely discernible beneath the crust,
yet under skin a heart like any man,
beguiled by the delicate line of woman.
His coat of trail dust, clouded when he moved,
and whiskey shots went down without a grimace,
as potent as it was, could melt metal;
and as she passed his heart stilled,
as if to miss a beat.
His eyes were clear blue,
like the midday endless expanse of sky,
not clouded by imperfection but crystal clean,
and they followed her eloquent sway,
as she cleared the tables.
None thought a chance with this beauty,
and not a word was uttered to that avail,
yet a room of eyes were fixed
upon each curve and mold of the goddess woman,
in breathless awe they sat.
His bottle gurgled another pour,
the amber rich tonic swished to still,
and he slammed it down, as if for courage,
when she glided by to pick up his glass,
his heart bursting for words.
She leaned over, her ample breasts like heaven’s gate,
and his eyes met hers, and time withdrew from life,
as she smiled, an unlikely fate,
“buy me a drink?’ she said, so warmly,
and his heart fell to racing like a bullock mad.
‘Why yes, I’d like that,’ he said in a gentle voice,
the room of gaping mouths, frozen.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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