Beauty

Beauty has coffee eyes. He wears his hair in an elegantly disheveled fashion. Beauty is leonine. His eyes are the jewels passed down from generation to generation. They remind me of apache tears. His fingers and toes are the arms that reach out to help others in need. His chest is the warrior they call his father, Greed. His lips and nose are the mountains and waterfalls in the land his mother, Innocence, loved.

He told me he loved me just a few days ago. The way he smiles, with the corners turned slightly and the lips pressed together softly, makes my toes tingle. Beauty sits next to me in math class.