it's perfect, it's sharp, round, it has no shape,
my chest literally aches, no escape
indescribably beautiful is it
it's scratched into my brain, it hurts, i'm hit
my heart explodes with utter perfection
mind equals speechless, crazy connection

I sink in
I rest my knobby elbows on the hard glass
            my dark, fuzzy, pinpricked reflection stares up at me
I place my cold palms on my hot eyes.
These eyes, they've seen too much
            yet, nearly not enough
My chapped lips,
            stingingly soothed by minty beeswax
My clothes
            plaid polo flannel, red, green, tan, black, white, jumbles, like me
My cold feet stick out,
            they rest painfully on a wood bar long stripped of stain
An old soul trapped with the mind of a child in a teenager's body.
This be will interesting.

His hands
The perfect shape
Broken
Scarred
Rough

Warm

It's never happened
It probably never will
But,
I know they'll fit

My hand
His hand
Together
Intertwined

With hope, forever