Stuart
He has the pale countenance of a 17th century poet
so debonair and vague sort of slender dismissive hands waving theories of the world between your piano fingertips, willowy intellectual folded like lawn furniture around himself, arm pulled up across thin ribs waving a cigarette, one leg entwined round the other. High white brow seething with possibilities and intrigues, those soft eyebrows that raise so surprisingly above grape shaped massive green eyes, eyes like a ruddy river in a highland glen streaked with mud and stones. slender boned face still broad with musings, you throw around words like a stoned theorist, the writer of some obscure dictionary who’s just smoked a copious amount of opium “in the physical sense, of this sort of…abstraction…” you trail off in shrugs and sighs that almost sound French, languid, so bored and so lovely
Towering height you fold down and compact in angles while sitting. Little sweaters and oddly placed buttons “yes, yes it’s funny I didn’t know much about Canada…and just recently all these symbolic sort of happenings, a friend dating a Canadian, a family member moving, you know, it’s just all very coincidental, yes..”
And you crack me up, the way you talk is such a gas but I can’t tell
If you take yourself seriously
waving your pen
eyes half glazed
in eloquent resolve
you're such a riot
so debonair and vague sort of slender dismissive hands waving theories of the world between your piano fingertips, willowy intellectual folded like lawn furniture around himself, arm pulled up across thin ribs waving a cigarette, one leg entwined round the other. High white brow seething with possibilities and intrigues, those soft eyebrows that raise so surprisingly above grape shaped massive green eyes, eyes like a ruddy river in a highland glen streaked with mud and stones. slender boned face still broad with musings, you throw around words like a stoned theorist, the writer of some obscure dictionary who’s just smoked a copious amount of opium “in the physical sense, of this sort of…abstraction…” you trail off in shrugs and sighs that almost sound French, languid, so bored and so lovely
Towering height you fold down and compact in angles while sitting. Little sweaters and oddly placed buttons “yes, yes it’s funny I didn’t know much about Canada…and just recently all these symbolic sort of happenings, a friend dating a Canadian, a family member moving, you know, it’s just all very coincidental, yes..”
And you crack me up, the way you talk is such a gas but I can’t tell
If you take yourself seriously
waving your pen
eyes half glazed
in eloquent resolve
you're such a riot