i loved everything
about him.
i loved his ears
because
they were too big for his head.
and his head
had bright tufts
of russled ginger hair.
the freckles
under his blue eyes
that frame his nose
and pepper his cheeks.
the flow softly
down his neck
across his chest
shoulders
back
arms.
beautiful.
i love how awkward he is.
he tries so hard
to impress me
to impress them
to impress himself.
and hes so silly
when he dribbles the ball
and shoots
and maybe he scored
i dont know
because
im not watching the ball
and i never was.
he thinks hes amazing
and maybe he is
but i dont notice
because all i see
is his goofy grin
and his too-long limbs
and the sheer joy
he breathes.
beautiful.
‘i dont wanna die
without any scars’
he says
quoting that fight club movie
we watched a dozen times.
movies,
i remember.
he loved movies.
he read a lot
quoted a lot too.
‘you pretty little fool’
he whispers.
i laugh
because
i was eleventh grade once
and i read gatsby too
just like he did
just like you.
i'd memorized his favorites
the poems
songs
and lines.
i could quote them
because
he loved the music
that filtered the words.
and he called it
beautiful.
i have memorized
the fabric of you.
i have tasted your sting
your wine
your honey
and i still want
crave
yearn for more.
his lips twitched in that clark gable way
and i wish that he knew
how much
i mean it
when i say
‘youre beautiful’.
