The Fall

He is my kind.

My kind of beautiful.

Not by the way he appears,

but the way he just is.

That smile meant just for me.

It starts by the left ear,

and broadens across his face,

barely reaching his right.

The way his eyes flutter back and forth,

especially when he knows I'm watching,

causing his face to change colors

and his mouth to stutter.

He is my kind.

He looks at me,

hold me in his gaze,

but cautious,

as if I don't know the secrets of his mind.

I do.

I share those thoughts too.

He is my kind.

The way he talks;

eloquently,

intelligently,

captivating me entirely;

He entraps me.

His words are refreshing,

enlightening,

a touch of old mixed with new.

He is my kind.

He glides across the floor,

carrying himself like he doesn't care,

because

he doesn't care.

His head is with the stars,

oblivious,

until he sees me,

and he stumbles.

He's back on the ground.

Aware,

and obvious.

He is my kind.

How he leans in when I utter a sound,

staring at me intently,

listening to every syllable

that pours from my lips.

He catches them

and cherishes them.

I fumble for what to say next,

lost in the intensity of his eyes,

the curve of his mouth,

the pinkness of his lips,

the slope of his shoulders,

the warmth of his hand grasping so firmly on to mine,

He is beautiful.

He is my kind.