oh the way you look
at a man.
the kind of man
who brings sunflowers,
too many to fit in a vase;
the kind of man
who picks out which
lipstick
he'd like to kiss off you;
the kind of man
who makes your coffee
every morning
(caramel colored and
and not quite sweet enough
but it's the best part
of every day);
the kind of man
who sleeps next to you
in your high school
bedroom,
chasing old demons
to blaze new paths;
the kind of man
with a baby
on his hip,
reading a bedtime story,
kissing scraped knees
and fixing broken toys;
the kind of man
with hard worked hands,
integrity and loyalty
made flesh;
the kind of man
who has heard your
worst words
and seen your
worst face;
the kind of man
that takes your hand
in the car
for no reason;
the kind of man
who has fought
with you
and for you;
the kind of man
who has sat through
sunrises
for the sake of
sick babies
and pregnancy cravings;
the kind of man
who calls you beautiful
first
thing
in the morning.
oh how you look at
that kind of man.
you look at him
like he is the last one
on earth;
the only one ever.
oh that man.
