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A Secret Life
February 18, 2015
I've never actually met him
but watched him before.
He lives in a mansion
ivy climbing quiet bricks
a garden for for a king.
He smells ancient
Musky
old Polo cologne
Comforting.
Green eyes piercing
Gazing behind soft black curls.
Nose small, red
as if sick with a cold.
Framework thin and frail
Sick, stable
Weak, sturdy.
Pink lips cradling
the precious cigarette
That fuels his life.
Guitar in hand
other
on knee.
How long will he stay
Anchored in dazed thoughts
captivating mystery,
Forever lost.
© Nicole E., McLean, VA
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