Even when I'm this sick, standing up and kissed with snot and ick, you come over and wrap your arms around me and let me rest my heavy head in your chest. Soft chest, thin arms, strong hold on me. Feeling safe, coddled, and like a little girl in your arms. Breathing your cotton and wool in, looking into your patterns and swirls. Even now, soft glances at you across the table, diagonally, and watching your sharp eyes and sloped nose, like a soft mountain or hill with a pointed cliff, beautiful in your way as I love you and feel you are beauty, soft skin that glows a warm pink and brown hair peppered with gray strands and a five o'clock shadow to cloak and hug your jaw: such long lashes and I see why they all stare at you, at such a pretty handsome face, and I remember to look a bit deeper from your skin but I get distracted by the thin wrists and blue veins roped around your hands and leading into your thin fingers that toy with coins and fiddle with hairs and twirl around my tepels.