the most gorgeous boy
i've ever met
once told me,
"no, i'm not beautiful,"
it felt so wrong,
like the tide stopped
its rhythm
and the crickets stopped
their chirping.
because he,
he is so perfect to me.
i love his mouth and its smirk,
his soft lips.
i love his shoulders,
their broadness and strength.
i love his eyes,
the pattern of his blinks,
the lake in the iris,
deep.
i love his hair,
the mess of it falling
in his face while he writes.
i love his feet,
the odd flatness
and beautiful contrast
between his big and
my little.
i love his hands,
with large joints
and nail beds,
wrapped so perfectly
around mine.
i love his entire body,
fitting like a beautiful puzzle
against and around
and under and on mine.
i love him
and though
he so rarely sees
this beautiful
picture of a boy,
i want to show him,
to capture it
in a net of words and photographs,
to reflect it in my eyes,
so that he can see it too.
YOU ARE READING
desolation
Poesíades·o·la·tion ˌdesəˈlāSH(ə)n/ noun a state of complete emptiness or destruction. anguished misery or loneliness. just a book of my inner thoughts, feelings, and observations TRIGGER WARNING: may include eating disorders, self harm, alcoholism, suici...
