The Little Things, Honey.

 He told me,

"It's the little things
that mean the most, honey.
It took me a while to
realize that but I did."

Oh, and I agree!

It's the way that his eyes
light up like Christmas bulbs
when he talks about how glorious
it is to lose himself in the pit.

It's the way that his jeans fall
just a little too low on his hips
and his ass shows like a child
trying to peek while counting.

It's the way that he smiles
and throws his head back like
a lion roaring in the rain
when he laughs without abandon.

It's the way that his brown eyes
betray his shame when he talks
about the things he's done and
the things he's lost in the past.

It's the way that his smile
curves up just a little higher
on one side than the other
like a poorly painted clown.

It's the sound he makes after 
he inhales sharply when I bite 
too roughly on his sensitive
and deeply freckled shoulders.

It's the way the sunlight
wakes me first as we lay
entangled like a bird's nest
but I don't want to wake him.

It's the way that our fingers
and eyes remain locked together
long after we both say goodbye 
for the second time that morning.

He told me, 

"It's the little things
that mean the most, honey.
It took me a while to
realize that but I did."