He’s not my type

He isn’t my type.

Far from

Nothing about him, really, appeals to me physically.


when he stands to speak

walks casually to the mic,

quiet manhood oozing strength

Not the overstated

not the in-your-face, all talk and no substance “manhood”.

His feels born of life’s pain

fired by resilience-birthing experiences.

His manhood whispers “I am a man!”… and no one challenges it

When he walks to the mic



when he merges with it, opens his mouth

he captivates

pulls me into the world of his creation

allows me to hang on every word

My ears gulp the elixir that is his bass

I vibrate to the frequency of his melody

eyes fixate on his 6ft frame

smile at the naughty promise hidden beneath his jeans and blue polo shirt

When he speaks his truth

my mind, body and spirit momentarily converge

in conscious awareness




He’s not my type…

but when he steps to the mic

Ooooh, I wish he was!

© 2013


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s