In caramels tones
He walks through scared spaces
Seeing the world
Through the eyes of a wandering soul
Ageless and free.
He’s made his way
Down a strange and varied path
Winding, weaving
But as wide as the mind inside.
His narrow gaze
Casual in its reception
Reflects the miles it has seen
But he averts it
To keep the distance from those he needs not connection.
His demeanor pleasant
But controlled
An enigma
A stoic
With a broad laugh
And a devilish grin
That is as deadly as it is inviting.
Inside he is hot
A fire creative, colored, divine
Licking his life, his spirit, his sex
But breathing beneath
A water-like surface cool to the eye
Serene and complex.
Good temperament
Earns him favor
Respect
While he succumbs to his need
To give and protect
It roots him to many who know him
But by little more than reputation
And name.
He sleeps in places
Not his own
But has made to his abode
For however long this piece lasts
And that’s somehow unknown.
His place
Like his soul
Is centuries old
And he respects what is gold
To those who know the value of that which is priceless
Of wood and of glass
And of the poor man’s past.
He labors long
His hands set working
To give new life to old things
His taste not fine
But telling
Of lives he might have lived and lost.
The art of men just like him
The things they labored over
Sit good as new with dust in corners
Unhung
They’re waiting
For the man to find his home.
Lankily, he goes
Tall in his domaine
Which travels on his spirit
Set to ever roam
Until the gentleman gypsy
Comes to meet his own.