When he laughs with his head back like that
even oceans would like to crawl into his throat
but he doesn’t know that every day I trace my body
pretending like my hands are his own
He’s so beautiful that even the Magic Mirror stops complimenting
the Wicked Queen and turns to him instead;
every coin tossed into the wishing well is about him,
until the water no longer accepts my currency.
Tonight I called the answering machine
of his dead father and left him a message saying
he should be very proud of his son
for the man he’s become
Fireflies keep their distance because they know his skin
can outshine theirs any time;
every x-ray at the doctor’s office captures the magnitude
of his heart like a 7.8 on the Richter Scale,
but he looks so good naked
that my head fits perfectly on his belly
like a Matryoshka doll; when I sleep with him
I forget about work the next day
and how there’s no more soy milk left in the fridge.
His showers take twice as long as mine
but I forgive the soap for wanting to spend extra time
sliding over the hard curves of his body
I don’t even mind when he gets shampoo
in my eyes because it stings less
than knowing that a few years from now
some other girl will get to kiss him
on a snow day during college
and instead of saliva, snowflakes
will be transferred from his mouth to hers.