Dear Tour Guide

Your nose stud is deliciously subtle,

Dear tour guide.

Maybe your blonde hair is a little fresh-washed stringy.

I'll wrap it around my pinky finger so that I do not forget your

Blue eyes?

Yes, must have been blue

As the ocean

A summer's sky

Remembering your smile, I look up into...

No, must have been green.

While I stare down the fine-muscled, long curly haired skateboarder,

Tell the group about the architectural history.

Fickle desires drag through the blood.

You discuss advocacy programs.

I want to lick that shiny little bud.

That's a bit lude.

Is it rude to talk about you like this in my down-time reflections?

Your white-knit beanie drove me wild.

Must I write you a sonnett,

Dear tour guide?

Must you be Shakespeare's most ethereal light-walk, sweet-talk fairy

In my eyes?

I catch a glimpse of that sun-flash call

to me, dear tour guide?

It sings like the distant call of drums.

You mention a famous alum.

I dream of how we'd succumb.