The Bartender.

I know he digs the way I think;
the shoes I wear; the foods I eat;
so much in fact is his smitten instinct;
he will default back to getting down on a knee…

He knows all the words to my favorite tales;
he rides into a room on no one’s coat-tails;
he’s immature – but he cleans up so well;
we are both too crazy for each other to tell…

I let him get away with almost anything;
all he has to do is bat those sweet hazel eyes at me;
flash me back to the bar he tends at night in Queens;
the mouth and mind of Walken with a heart like Huckleberry.

5 thoughts on “The Bartender.

  1. m says:

    This sounds dangerous. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. sfarnell says:

    Hi ya… A nice little poem. Whays going on with you?

    Liked by 1 person

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