His locks are thin,

too 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 pick

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,

a spotlight,

it makes me hope he will smile more.

 

I know he is reserved,

restrained.

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,

to feel

to smile.

I hope one day, he shares

his heart,

his smile,

himself.