His locks are thin,
almost as thin as his arms,
his slender skeleton,
one so fragile I fear I will break him if I hug him too tight.
His fingers are bony and sharp.
His nails are soft daggers
used as paintbrushes
to create a masterpiece with his trusty strings
his skinny skinny hands
His speech is deeper than oceans
yet his voice sings to the skies.
He likes to hum the harmonies.
He prefers to drop the octave
as he drops cinema trivia.
He likes to watch his friends smile, laugh
I see him smile sometimes, I like it when he does
His careful grin, used only when he really means it,
reserved for someone special.
His friends, maybe
but the way his teeth sparkle
like theatre lights,
it makes me hope he will smile more.
I know he is reserved,
He has his secrets in his chest.
His heart, kept deep inside his bones and ribs.
His heart is a secret, too
I want him to know that his heart is meant to be warm,
I hope one day, he shares