You are seafoam green eyes and pale snow skin. You are a cloud of anxious starlings and an ancient wooden ship traveling across rough waters. Your body is made of incorrect shapes and unflattering angles, but the transparent heat waves rising from your surface are enough to warm my breath to just-above-fogging temperatures. With your voice a foot above and away from my shoulder and a sidelong eyebrow cocked over inquisitive politeness, I am suddenly more myself than before you walked into the room; despite your jenga layered plans and precarious lack of expectations and uniquely beautiful talented humility, I cling to your presence like wool and fleece in January cold. The stark immediacy of eye contact, the jolt of my name on your lips, metal on tongue - chilled air now inexplicably steaming with your laughter. Your body is not the whitest song, and your mouth bears no recklessness, but the magic emanating from you nonetheless hangs breathless in my puzzled hands, while the songs I’ve written for the perfection of another leave me speechless for you. Close your eyes, a moment’s softness in silent warmth, disconnected relaxed togetherness, and let me feel you beside me with no words. I want to understand your energy. Quiet ceramic heating hands, tired muscles. Gentle voiced, you’ll draw my art better with sincere embraces… effortless.