What are you showing me, Jack Kerouac? Standing naked in my doorway Hands pressed against the doorframe One foot planted upon the ground The other lifted into the air From a knee that's slightly bent What have you come to show me? That dreams can come true If I give myself up to you? You've captured my mind and spirit with your ramblings Your beautiful descriptions, observations, and fictional characters A man walks down the road at 4 pm smoking a cigarette Suddenly, ideas seven pages long I learned it all from you But I'm still looking for more of your lessons Anything you're willing to give of yourself I've taught myself to gladly take without question Without regret So you're hear before me now Chest muscles gleaming Hair a tad damp from the rain which will not let up outside Cheekbones poking through the flesh of the face Eyes which will not focus on human But rather the floor, just cleaned- to impress whom? There's a bed and an armchair, it's not as it the floor will be used How dreams of want can jump to a fantasy as so And containing you, of all the beautiful figures in the world Only a real gentleman can hold a lady in his arms All other little boys are cast aside like the toy soldiers they refuse to put away But I'd never put you in the toybox Not with a manhood like yours You can smoke cigars and handle a lady better than any bloke who sets foot near this cafe With such class, such tasteful motions And how you have come to show me these special talents The way a firm kiss can be just as plentiful as a playful one The only diference is that firm lingers on ruby red lips And makes finertips tungle, as viewing you in the doorway does now So masculine, it turns feminine after the sun sets Which is a great time for all occasions Large, and small
11/20/01
