A Real Man

He smells like John Wayne:
grit,
campfires and stogies,
filthy heroic perspiration as pheromone lady bait
.
He feels like Death Valley:
hot,
his bristly skin like sandpaper to the touch,
his grainy landscape, molding and contouring to my succumbed body
.
He sounds like a pump action shotgun:
steel,
sliding into position, with a firm click
locked and loaded and ready to blast ammunition
.
He tastes like Apache smoked buffalo:
tough,
aged to perfection
sheets of shredded brawn to gnaw on
.
YET, he looks like a a tall glass of milk:
white,
wholesome, and lanky
eyeglasses, and a fluidity that makes me want to drink him up.
Published in: on May 9, 2010 at 1:55 am  Comments (2)  
Tags: , , , , ,

2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. what a tribute to the western. i think i need to have my cowboy’s hat on. great!

    • Thanks. Actually it was a tribute to my hard working husband who has taken to smoking cigars while he works. The kicker is, he does not look like a rugged man. He is a tall thin and pale 50’s era suave nerdy kinda guy. And I luv’m! He’s no cowboy to the naked eye, but he can emulate the grit when he wants to. Thanks for stopping by, Hames. I’m glad to see your blog as well. Good stuff so far from what I’ve read!


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