By jovita  jovlad@yahoo.com
Date: 7 December 1998

Who is he?

he is a machine.
he works like clockwork,
day in and day out,
his heartbeat is the ticking of time.
he is ebony in all its essence;
dark skin, smooth as cappuccino,
color rich as chocolate.
every muscle, every curve
painted to perfection by heaven's hand.
he is a powerful man.
he oozes strength from every pore
and he holds all magic in his hands.
he casts his spell,
indeed he does,
on every woman in his prescence.
he has a sleek, confident gait
that strolls gracefully,
elegantly,
effortlessly,
upon smooth, bent legs
and he brings all women to their knees.
and yes,
he carries every heart
(maybe even mine)
in the palm of his hands.
he has,
no he IS
energy.
the perfect perception of life
and of living
and yes, of course
of DESIRE.
and he knows it.
le laughs mockingly
with conceit at the world,
because he owns it.
he has left his mark on many
and on me.
though he never kissed me
(and yes i doubt he ever will)
i have felt his kiss before once
when his sweat dripped into 
the groove of my collarbone
and some nights
i still remember that sweet touch,
though maybe nothing more of him
or of that day
except of his belonging to me 
for a moment,
that moment.
yes, he is still mine some nights
when i drift into recollections
and ponder ( in retrospect)
what force brought him to me
or why i was chosen 
(but if only for a moment)
to belong to him as well.
yes he IS a machine.
at least most times,
but when he sleeps
he is a baby,
all quiet,
and softspoken,
and no energy at all.
he runs the gamut.
strong muscles and soft breath,
harsh words and gentle touch,
he is all of everything
and i know it.