He is an original compliment used completely for honesty's sake,
A playlist, a work schedule, and a couple old receipts committed to memory,
A combination of high self-standards yet unconditional love,
That looks like gray from across the porch at night.
He is a few prized possessions, a dozen black coffees,
And a hundred off-beat jokes that are funny
Because he's already smiling when he delivers the punch line,
Inoffensive in any mood, a last cigarette with your name on it,
Someone else's pair of plaid shorts that ended up in his laundry.
He is guitar-hardened fingertips, spinning hugs that take away my bearings,
And a bedroom door he never got around to installing,
A mess of sentences when he agrees, a rare type of laugh when he doesn't,
And wildlife trivia that finds its way into either conversation.
He is a tarantula-keeper because why not,
An unscheduled haircut to prove a point, and indifferent on all other topics,
An immunity to mosquitoes taken for granted,
A wrestling match with someone else's dog,
And a fishing trip planned but never executed.
He is "most certainly not a hippie",
Pointing out stars we would see better if "the dang moon wasn't there",
And chasing his puppy down the street who was being
"Such a sweet little girl" not five minutes ago,
No promises made, so none broken,
An emergency lunch at Los Panchitos to fix his craving for Mexican food,
And his first beer ordered with his fajitas.
He is a pat on my back even when I have turned it on him,
An open schedule even when he is more busy than I am,
And a dose of truth that would be hard to take from anyone else.
And I am lucky, because I don't know much about biology,
But I do know his species isn't the kind most even get the chance to meet.