I'm a flannel and jeans type of guy,
a dance floor maniac
that still appreciates soft folk music tracks, too.
I am an airport gallery.
I am a metaphor of a simile,
Yours.
I am a New Yorker
and a Floridian,
somehow.
I can count to ten,
but I skip four
and seven.
I am a shot of shitty whiskey
and a beer
on a Monday morning.
I am a traveler
and a homebody;
I am dead.
I am big eyes
and long eyelashes,
and a flapping aortic valve that counts down.
I am not the best looking man,
nor the smartest;
I am a happy middleweight pugilist.