His brows like bended bows with curly-q’s
His mustache like motorcycle handlebars
His eyes like green gin olives
His hair grey and wavy like ocean whitecaps
His hands immaculate and powerful like a surgeon’s fingers
His figure debonair and statuesque like Fred Astaire
His smile cautious but genuine like Buddha
His memory a journey like the wine that ran in his blood
Dedicated to my grandfather, Ed Mirassou
Heather Mirassou's Poetry Soul Closet 