My Perfect Guy

As the sun shone through the clouds, after a rainy morning, I puffed on a cigarette and contemplated.

My perfect guy would be my height, he'd have nice chest, he’d walk a certain way. He wouldn't have to have muscles, but he'd be in shape. He'd be kind of scruffy; in other words, he'd be less concerned with his appearance than he would be with being comfortable. Daggy maybe, in a sophisticated way.

He'd have an opinion, he'd have something to say.

A nice smile and/or laugh would go a long way.

He'd most probably be dark, but not necessarily, blond is okay. He'd have a job, or at least something to do. Hopefully, he'd have an interest in the arts, even if he wasn't personally involved.

He'd be sarcastic. He'd be funny. He'd suffer no fools. He'd love gardening. He'd love cars. He'd love cats and dogs, equally.

He wouldn't give a damn about fashion, he'd just set it in a very nonchalant way.

He'd be old enough to have a few scars, there's beauty in them, I say.

But most of all he'd be kind and he'd be sweet and he'd be as honest as the day is long.