A Quiet Boy from Brooklyn

I’d write the way I came to love a quiet boy from Brooklyn

But, I know you and how you’d tease

Don’t worry though, I know it isn’t mean

Instead, let me tell you this

You have the most beautiful


A mind to match

Both have scars, hidden rooms I may never see, damage from abuses past

And that’s ok, have your private places- I have mine

Still though so beautiful

Seeing you, honestly,  is like seeing color for the first time

And, boy, when you smile

Didn’t know they made smiles like that

31, complex, dark, and still- radiantly innocent

Fragile indomitable warmth, hope

Like the bad parts of your past never quite made it past the surface of your skin

Inside you- still- a quiet boy filled with wonder

I feel those smiles deep in the center of my chest

LIke, I never quite knew what it was to smile before I felt yours

I wish I could rent you a room behind my eyes

For your moments of insecurity

To see yourself as I do

Mesmerizing beauty wrapped in such handsome skin

A face I’d contentedly watch for the next several decades and hope I do

I know your every birthmark, every scar

I’ve kissed them all and will again

Memorized the road map of your bones and found the perfect places of sleep

With you, no desire for anything more than the fact of my skin pressed so close to yours

The world outside a far off concern for other people

I need for nothing else

Though, how I’d love to show you the ruined cathedral in France where I fell in love with the sky

Somehow, for you, all I want is to give

Things, experiences, memories

The very best that my imagination can muster

I want you to forget the feeling of not having

To surround you with the manifestation of love such that love is all you know

Tell me your dreams, all of them

How happily I’d devote myself to helping them become real

And your nightmares, tell me those too

I’ll plumb their depths to bring you the lightness of unencumbered sleep

Had I the talent I’d paint for you or sing for you or sculpt for you these feelings that stir when I look at you

Alas, I have only words

None of which could possibly hope to compare to the smell of your skin

So, these words

Humble though they are, are all for you

My quiet boy from Brooklyn

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