a boy with soul
has blackberry stains in his hair
and the wind in his eyes,
you could see the vinegar
birthmark on his neck
as he tilts backwards
to watch an old Italian artist
paint water lilies and 'what ifs'
into canvas
at a new angle,
'to add spice to life' he would say
then
he'd memorize your heartbeat
and write a song too it,
that only your lips could sing,
after kissed with with olive oil
from cold pasta served to take away
that empty place in you
he saw the moment he blinked,
when wiping away your tears
with callused fingertips and his
masterpiece no one would ever see
a boy with soul,
born from nothing but sculpts everything
is hard to find.