Match Perfect

There was a certain method to his beauty
Standing there like a masterpiece
Waiting for a sexy artist like me
To brush him with a colorful, unique flavor
And finish him off with just the right stroke.

There was a certain science to his fineness,
Posing like an experiment that
Needed just the right imagination
To be a cure for his magician’s touch
A Madame cure-all like me.

There was a certain rhythm to his strength
African drumming for a classical conductor me-style
With fingers that slide along his . . . keyboard
Lips wrapped around the trumpet piece
Seeking the right pitch
Like he’s a well-played note.

There was a certain poetry to his intelligence,
Free versing for a creative, cute piece
To write him like the sweetest little stanza
And enter him as smoothly
As words on the tongue
Edited and ready for publication
By a sophisticated writer like me
Him molding to my sista-chic,
Scientific, musical, artistical ways
Shaping him till he was
Custom-made.