You straightened your blue tie;
The ocean-blue of your sweet eyes.
Long lashes, dark styled hair; must be —
Embarrassing for such a strong —
man going on 6’5, to have such eyelashes.
Not that height,
Makes a huge difference;
But I’m liking what I see.
You smiled, lips full,
Kissable, and my mind goes south . . .
Then, I’m blinded by another,
Of your sweet smiles.
Gorgeous, open; you appear so alive,
Happy and handsome.
Steamy and hot;
I think it’s love at first-sight.
In a summer suit; a baby-blue shirt.
Blue is your colour, in every shade.
You walk, I get the view from behind;
It all looks good to me.
I hear that’s great too.
Again, my mind wanders,
Should I walk the same way you’re walking?
Maybe, you’ll notice plain old me?
Utterly, enchanted by your sight.
On this dreary day,
Everything’s gone wrong; the cancers back.
But your magnatism, your laugh;
It made my day.
I feel as if I’m some voyeaur,
To appreciate such beauty,
And care of appearance.
Qualities such as long-fingered hands,
No doubt talented; I miss those . . .
I trip while admiring you,
I can’t see straight.
You turn around alarmed,
Having noticed and heard,
Me fall on my face embarrassed.
I’m an eighty-six-year-old woman,
Falls aren’t a good thing and I’ve pride;
To walk yet on my own.
But you’re kind and pleasant;
Though I tremble in your presence,
You bring me ice from a restaurant for my hip.
I say: “If I was younger . . .”
You blush and I do the Grandma thing;
Patting your arm,
Possibly, inhaling how great you smell,
And showing you,
A recent picture of my favourite,
Dark auburn hair and grey-blue eyes,
Beautiful, healthy, and fit,
Witty and bright; an Art History Professor.
Your eyes go large and I know you’re,
Thinking of a way to charm her number from me.
I chuckle say: “I’m where she gets her looks.”
You grin and chuckle.
Your laugh makes me so pleased.
And I accidentally,
Let my granddaughters number,
Pop-up on my giant iPhone.
I snap a picture of you Mr.Gorgeous,
You blush so cutely, she’ll love you.
Send your photo to my precious girl,
I just have this feeling. . .
Get you to text: He’ll Call. His Name is Cale. Love Nanny.
I take pictures on my IPhone and call;
Texting is too hard.
After more conversation,
I’m sure of you, wishing I was twenty-eight.
You have to leave, making sure I’m fine.
I’m sad; but my dear girl will bring you over,
Hoping I did her a favour.
My best and only granddaughter;
Smiling pleasantly, at the thought of you,
A handsome businessman.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.