Another trip down memory lane, courtesy of 18 year old Keith and some spring cleaning. I think I like this poem more than the last story I put up. Maybe I'm just being a hopeless romantico...
You want to call him PRETTY
But you just know that he'd laugh
At your uncreative choice of adjectives
But there's just no other way to describe him
CUTE doesn't do him justice
He's way past that level of playground good looks
Tether balls and cootie tag spring to mind before his flawless face does
You could call him HANDSOME assuming
That fashion catalog male models wouldn't take offense
At your gall for comparing their stylish Armani tastes
To his penchant for clothes that don't always have to fit him snug
You could easily call him SEXY but
There's just much more to him than that
Though he gives you those thoughts
That shake around your insides
You want to call him PRETTY
But you know he'll laugh again
With visions of poofy hostesses
All dressed to the nines
And tens and twenties too
You'll understand his not understanding
Your need to find a word to explain
All of the ways he makes you feel
When it's just the two of you together
And that PRETTY doesn't quite cut it
So you want to call him PRETTY
And you probably will
But when he's not around
And you keep writing dumb poetry about him
You know you'll want to call him PRETTY
But you should just call him BEAUTIFUL
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