The rogue he is

Black coat, white shirt and a tie.
Look at the picture, and you know
he’s where he needs to be.
The deep gentle assurance in gaze,
and the complete surrender to the purpose at hand.
No one goes unattended.
Look closer,
and the boy shows through;
even under the light moustache lining his pink lips.
That leopard-print tie he’d chosen for his suave jacket
pulled up a little tighter than needed;
the close-cropped hair,
flicked out impatiently at the temples;
his fingers had run through them,
not more.
The tender lips, twitching, to burst out
as if, with a secret, laughing,
when all the clicks are done.
That rogue in him shows through, and how,
and the boy that he’ll always remain.

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