you could jump off a cliff
How different is different?
he sits at his desk
with his forehead pasted against the cool surface
and the gentle revolving fan is sptting
a breeze across his head.
No. But it might be better if he was.
His eyes not watching me,
two dark coconut brown diamonds
set into his eyes.
His abandoned Shakespeare lying flat down
while his hands hold some gaudy sci-fi book.
How quiet is quiet?
I think he is quiet
but then again, his hair seems to quiver on its own.
He only moves to turn the pages.
He's one of the only onew who twists idiosyncricies.
I like his structure:
small and slender with flashing scales like a minnow.
He dwells in frozen landscapes with winter air
and twin scythes on his feet, slipping sliver-like through a hill of snow.
You can get lost
in his fingers, smooth and soft
with a hint of sweat.
His wrist weighed down with silver links that make his watch.
How beautiful is beautiful?
The eye of the beholder-
Transfixed on his bent back.
I decide, or anyway,
he decides for me.
A/N: The background behind the title is actually the t-shirt this boy was wearing as I wrote this.