Darling, what can I say? You look like a bird's nest.

Now before you can protest, let me tell you that I adore it. You and your face, perfectly round and perfect to hold between my palms, so cool and smooth. Then you have your rich halo of brown locks, wrapped tight around your baby-face, kept in swift curls and straight order. You're a grown man, but your mouth is a boy's first grin, while it can still serve a sour scold when I deserve it. Your nose dips into the perfume of my hair when the moon glazes our naked flesh, but hounds after the scent of bakeries when we stroll down 2nd Street. Your eyes plan the future, but dwell in the joys of the past. Surfaced with knowledge, but they can't resist. They are the water of countryside wells when the mornings are just right, secret and unknowing.

You're secure, well-made, sophisticated, crafted and firm…if all not to shelter the last bits of innocence that had never given up.