Bigben

Ben has got big shoulders and blue eyes lighter than yours.
He's strong and sweet, like every man should be.
He's polite and nice and he always calls me gorgeous. I like it.
We don't speak the same language and his accent really takes me astray, but we communicate anyway. Thanks to my awful esperanto.
Ben has got big shoulders, but he takes his sunglasses off when he listens to you.
He doesn't care about the brightness. I mean, it does not bother his light-blue eyes.
One day we sit on a sunny chair, and his eyes were full of waterfalls. He said I didn't know I could cry. He thought crying is not a matter of strong people, but he learned it is.
He was not scared for solitude, I could feel it. His heart was broken for the missing company. I remembered how many times and just once was I in his situation. I could comprehend his sorrow, and wished to heal it, but what came out was a sorta of porno doggy-style purposal.
Ben is beautiful and calm, and it need three women for embracing him all.
He said to me: when you'll be 300 years old, I'll take a flight around you, and I'll sing you a bird song. Try to remember me.
So now, you cannot see very perfectly. Cause your eyes are full of teardrops, like mine.
But when you are ready, stand up your head, mind your ears, maybe he is me, maybe somebody else. Souls are energy.
It never dies.