He.

Pale, skinny, short, and bearded.

You make my legs quake, my skin yearns for your touch, anxious for you.

No, not anxious excited

anxious longing

anxious wanting

anxious beyond compare

anxious dear lord please!

You see, I once thought that tall and tan, muscular and smooth, was sexy. That seduction was sexual, sensuality its equivalent, and that sexuality was connected to appearance. That societal lie, the madeup equation that gets engrained into our minds after years and years.

But seeing you is seeing truth. Truth is your hands on my legs as I turn on the PS3, truth is your understanding as I vent and complain. Sensuality is a worm hole, unknown, unexplored, its very definition vibrating with spectulation. I Alice and you my white rabbit, as we go tumbling, diving, hurling through unknown dimensions, soaring past planets.

Sensuality is laughing at fart jokes with you, is knowing your arms are a shelter, is knowing you are protection. That my shelter of bones is a battle ram! Timbers turned to weapon of bone and blood, and flesh, and a battle cry! "You won't touch these wings! This Angel, this bird, fragile and bruetal, the juxtapostion of beauty and vengance, is mine! She chose me! Back down, you don't know this fury, the malestorm that is love, to fight and preserve!"

So yes he is pale, but his skin and mine are long lost lovers, embracing each other and remembering the other. He is skinny, so we nurture each other, He is short and we are equals, neither towering over the other. And bearded, because the prickle of his beard is the best way to wake up and realize this is no dream