I know you Rasta man
sauntering into the room
with your cool confidence
and ginger wild dreadlocks.
Your eyes remind me of
copper pennies, embedded
in golden rings.
I know you Rasta man,
I know this quiet demeanor
you exude as you move by me,
intriguing me, making me want to
reach out and touch you.
I wish to lay naked and disintegrate
into the rough fabric of red, gold and green
just so that I can watch your movements
just so that I can listen to you speak.
You begin to saunter out of the room
and walk by me again
with your oh, so cool confidence
but you stop dead in your tracks and
look right into me with your copper
and golden eyes
and I have a fleeting thought of a wild
and hungry lion.
Yeah, I know you Rasta man
as you stop and look at me,
right into my body, right into my mind.
You remember me as well, as you step out
into the blinding sunlight, your long ginger
locks hanging down your slender back,
too proud to succumb to your rising emotion,
too proud to give a backward glance.