he was sex
little clouds
billow from his lips
the only effeminat feature
next to his delicate eyes
that no one could stare into
for he was beyond what a guy was
out of every girl's reach
cigarettes draped from his mouth
the silhouette of his head
surrounded by smoke
pushing cassettes in the tapedeck
of his car
driving fast
in scuffed boots and jeans
his deservingly-vain face
checking for crown vics
stare across lanes of traffic
then flies off into the sunset
the end of a cigarette burning bright
he smoked outside the coffeeshops
to kill time between classes
he liked his coffee black
no sugar, no cream
just like him
secretly he was worshipped
by every girl
when he sat outside in stale air
he was sex
and he stopped smoking
to he could sing beautifully
and he slowed down driving
and saw a girl
he turned down the stereo
and her voice rang through his ears
he shined his boots
to see her smile in them
the end of an era
four fucking twelve
only in dreams does he remain
so only in dreams he is visited
but his coffee is still black as night
and he always drives fast in hearts
and that cigarette is pressed between his lips
and the hopeless romantics wonder still
when those boots will scuff again.
