Adam

And he has eyes like periwinkle mines, pure as a mid-morning sky, and when he smiles it's like glitter in a glass of water, shimmering like you wouldn't believe.

And he has a face like a god you don't believe in, all androgynous planes and silver blossoming under his skin, impossibly unreal and imperfectly majestic, with sins along the curve of his mouth.

And he sings like nothing else, like it's everything and maybe it is- you can certainly believe it when you hear the jeweled nuances of his voice- and he breathes a melody of his own.

And he seems like he's crying only he's not, lost in his world of butterfly noises and invisible octaves, and if you tell him they shouldn't exist he certainly won't believe it.

And he's like a treasure that only brings ruin, the mistake you wish you never met, the ache in the foolish heart that let him in. But you believe him like a lover, wished on him like a dream, and he's yours for as long as you can make him stay.