(This is a poem written as if I were a man writing it
and boy that would sure be a treat next time I put my jeans
on wouldn’t it?  
Anyway I hope you enjoy it and hope I can pull it off!
the poem, not the jeans.  



I’m no artist and no poet, just a man
wiping the sweat off his brow, wondering
how I’m going to pay my taxes next year.
Just a few minutes ago, I cleaned out the
fish tank, swept the rug, popped a tv dinner
in and now I wait for your reaction from my
letter.

You know, when I wrote those words to you
last night, clicked the button
and shouted a few
obscenities at myself for stuttering
over the words
I knew the
words “I love you” just seemed
so inadequate.

Maybe I can tell you, now,
sitting here, looking
at your picture-
Honey, there’s something missing.

You have no color!

Let me color in the lines,
sweetheart,
the best I can?  So you’ll know
I’m genuine,
that I DO love you.

First those eyes, aw baby,
they should be blue
blue as the sky before the storm,
azure
just like that wave I rode on Maui,
with lilac from threads of twilight,
you know right before
the last light?

And those cheeks?   When I cup them
in my
hands I want to feel scarlet
pillows swelling
in my palms.  Yeah, cherry
doesn’t do you
justice, I want to feel
the heat spread to the
outside of your earlobes
all the way down your
neck.

I’m taking the ink from sable,
mixing it
with coal dust and sprinkling
it with diamonds
to tint your hair. Before
I run my fingers
through it, I want it to shine.

If I really were an artist
I would line
your lips with my own
and watch the
natural color unfold
across them,
then lean back and
hope you smile.

I’ll leave your complexion
just as it is-
pearly translucent,
and yeah, sure, innocent.
So now I sit here wondering
"I sure hope she believes me"

and the only thing missing
is your smile…….