His toes can dig into the sand at 10:00 PM on the beach,

Feeling the cool sensation travel through gunshot arches in his feet

That sit on the throne of his heels.

And what a rough throne it is.

Battered and callused from walking away 500 years of oppression.

An Irish boy.

Climbing on rocks in the back yard,

Trying to survive in this world moving just a little bit too fast.

His ankles are two suns igniting a reason to carry on.

Supporting legs that are just as far up-rested,

Halfway blocked by knees known to buckle when confronted.

A fault never seen, only felt somewhere within his gut.

His stomach is the only imperfect curve that he's ever known.

Black hole belly button that sucked up his last bit of self-confidence,

Yet there is dignity in his chest.

Vigor for life comes with the rhythmic motion of his lungs,

Lungs that carry him through long, long nights at the gym.

Beating back every glare, every humor, every rumor anyone dares to make about him.

His arms are a castle sculpted by the hands of God.

Stronger than Gandhi's will to make a change,

Willing to defend anything that is worth fighting for.

Upwards more his lips move like butterflies when he speaks.

Fluttering about the rosy garden of his cheeks,

Speckled with mildew drop dimples.

Eyes: electrifying storm clouds. Keeping his face bright,

Alive.

He has ears of the Oracle, of the Bible, of Egypt.

His hair reeks of Irish trimming.

A big, outspoken family around the dinner table,

Every member with a napkin around their neck,

Toppling over each other for the first bite and he,

He always hated crowds.

But,

His mind.

His mind is the night before a revolution.

He can hear everything, he can see the future.

Downwards more his breath is boundless.

His touch is that of a deep purple, Native American tradition

Where his palms read the words of Kilimanjaro,

Wrapping you further into his arms,

Fingers lightly tracing the facade of your skin.

He walks with his legs and his walk is patient.

Shuffling down the hallways,

Waiting for a time when he is not controlled by bells spaced four minutes apart.

But his toes, his toes can dig into the sand at 5:00 AM on the beach,

Face towards the waves,

And prepare to watch the sunrise.