A Poem by Ruth Nineke


He was thin and exquisite,
a beauty by precision
like one of those fine tipped
and expensive,
art pens
the kind he used on his illustrations

He seemed absolutely crafted and
intensely committed to
his appearance:
all black with RayBans, tats
part on the right side,
the placement of his pants
only slightly an inch below
his square waist

His face was a teenage dream
elusive delicacy adorning stoic
lack of emotionality
made him tremendously
close to
impossible to read

He was not long
he was not muscular
or particularly virile in form
No, he was not a sculpture – hand made
and he didn’t much look as though
he was ever meant to be touched
by anything
other than the instrument of his choosing


copyright 2013



Thanks for reading, Love!
Please share this poem with your people:


Let Me Know What You Think: