That Kind Of Woman

I find myself staring at tall men who are unforgiving in their character.
They saunter into rooms only to charm each person occupying it.
Smiles reach their eyes, and handshakes never cut you off at the knuckles.
They don’t use bottle openers on counter tops and tables,
but pull some magic from their keychains and pockets.
They sneak to surfaces, while holding conversations,
and balance caps then the swift palm moving downward.
Pop.
There goes the cap.
Then they continue.

I don’t know how to approach these men, don’t know what to say.
I mention the occasion which draws us together.
Or I go rogue, asking them what place,
if they had unlimited funds,
would they go for 4 days.
What would they do?

I wonder who these men are,
what music they listen to,
and how they found me.

These types of men are rare,
but even rarer is that they are truly what I see,
because really,
who ever really sees the truth of what is going on.  

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

I like men with flaws. 
Too big hands, scars on their legs, and wonky smiles.
I don’t like men who are too pretty.
Give me some unruly hair, a crooked nose.  
Give me a deep rumbly voice that doesn’t match his mouth.
A patch of beard that won’t be tamed.
Give me two different color eyes.
I want to see what makes them different.

What sets them apart by my senses.
I want to touch the faults that make you up.  
I want to see the imperfection. 

I want to categorize each one to someday write down and remember how I became so familiar with them. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)