Blue Print

I have him planned; the way he'll walk,
   The color of his eyes,
A clear young gaze, with fortitude,
   The neatness of his ties.

He will be tall with mannerisms
   Cool, and male, and strong,
His hair will glisten when my hands
   Push blue-black waves along.

I have him planned, and yet somehow,
   I know I'll end up steady
With some young brute who pulls me close
   And whispers: "Dinner ready?"