A dark Afro frames his oval face,
His mother’s frownless face, of creaseless brow,
Small turned up nose and generous mouth,
Full lips formed gently, beautifully, and soft.
He frames his dark eyes like a 70’s aviator.
He’s only 45 it seems, not 64.
I don’t want to be separated from him,
Even in sleep. I hold hands with him
When we walk, and look at him
When we talk, and eat across from him, and
Watch Chopped with him, and
Send him copies of all my emails, and
Lie enfolded in him or he in me
When we end our last, bedtime chat
(Or our sex and then our chat), to fall asleep.
I love his deep bass chuckles and
His hesitant deep-throated pauses, his
Expressions, the way he says his words,
His full-throated unrestrained enthusiasm.
I love his body, his silky-smooth black skin,
The power of his masculinity, and his black manhood.
I love his mind, his artistic genius, his creative hands.
I love the way he works with focussed ethic,
As when he cooks, bending over the counter slightly,
Intently, to mold his creations. I love the way he walks!
I love his easy laughter and his upbeat moods.
I love his enthusiasm, his optimism, his moving on
When things don’t work as he would like.
(He is endlessly giving, but lets fools be,
Lets others be who they are, do what they do.)
I love his unending goodness, his generosity, his
Depth, and the beauty of his soul. I love his
Gratitude for life, and for what I do for him.
Tony is truly good. He teaches me how to be Christian.
We may not have 20 years, for I’d be 91.
But I want us to, and he have seven more.
I don’t want to be apart from him,
Until I must. I love him so very much.
He is one man in a thousand years.
Tony will always be beautiful to me.
© 2012 - Langston Snodgrass. 2,9 August 2012