Lovely

Isn't he lovely,

soft at the temples

but rough jaw, lip, and chin.

Gentle hands that hold children

the same hands

that lift bricks

and pull ropes,

building buildings,

moving rubble,

sailing ships.

Hands as strong as the voice

that he quiets to listen

and to whisper small words

that feel bigger than

hands,

bodies, buildings,

and ships

Isn't he lovely
who once was a boy,
nursing and then crawling,
soon running and falling,
losing teeth,
making wishes
boosted up to candles.
He learns to use hands
and words that are gentle
with his kickball bruised sneakers
and his school box of pencils
that curious quick turn into pens
and his sneakers to slacks.
Then they cuts his boy hair,
and his face turns to man.

But he still has his bikes,
and he likes to act silly,
enjoys being held
like his mother once held him.
Eyes mirror the heart,
and when he smiles,
his eyes show the boy he once was
hidden inside.
It's not on his face or his glue-stickied fingers
but in the way that he says,
"One more kiss"
and then lingers -

And lovely describes him
because it captures it all
the softness he possesses
Although he is strong.
The strongest man is the one
who is more than his gender
who is lovely and grotesque,
vulnerable and full of power.
Whose arm can be under the arm
of his other
and who knows that he's lovely
because he isn't bothered
by gender.