He

A child in a man's body
Sleek and sophisticated in a city-dweller's costume
(High black boots, dark skinny jeans, black thermal shirt,
Black hoodie, an old and worn black leather jacket, and
Soft grey scarf piled around his neck)
He walks with ease confidence, his step light and carefree
He's combed back his black hair carefully, with a comb
And water, but a lick of it caresses his forehead like
A mother's hand.
His eyelashes nearly hide his eyes behind a gossamer curtain,
The envy of any girl.
To look at you was to enfold you
In the depths of his warm, giddy brown eyes, the color of
Summer mud, and
He wears a perpetual tan, a gift from his Italian, Hawaiian,
And Navajo ancestors, and it is sweet to the eye,
Like a taste of coffee with just enough cream and sugar.
When he laughs, the hardest of hearts break down into
Happy tears, poets scramble for a bit of paper and a pen, and
Birds hush in the beauty of this most glorious of sounds,
Too low and sweet and childlike for their throats to mimic.