Trouble

He's the walking archetype of bad-boy,
Of all things forbidden,
But there's nothing boyish about him.
From his door busting shoulders,
To his full sleeve tattoos,
He exemplifies trouble,
In so many delicious ways.
You can't miss the tension 
Simmering in his gaze
As he takes in the room.
Yet, when he's with me,
He's kind and gentle.
There's very little I wouldn't do
To get to know the demons
That lurk beneath his inked skin,
And to find out 
If they'll play well with my own.