Sonnet to SL
My love is tall and handsome, but not dark;
his hair's the color of a sparrow feather.
His eyes don't flash, they're simply green or brown
depending on his outfit and the weather.
He doesn't drive a fancy car; he walks
with heart and mind wide open, sure and slow.
He lies back with his bookbag for a pillow;
I watch his face and voice make stories grow.
He doesn't send me flowers, but he does
ask me for my opinion on his work.
And does he have a six-pack? I don't know -
I haven't seen him yet without a shirt.
Yet all my other joys grow pale and thin,
just sitting on a dew-wet lawn with him.