he loves
thimbles tacks and tiny things
sewing
stationary
the fresh cracked open book smell
and pressing his nose into its pages
inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide
the atoms dancing in his dna
of fallen trees
of dead leaves
and the mammoths that trampled the earth
before his blip into existence
rain and snow
quiet afternoons
planting something new
the soft heat of sunshine peeking through the canopy of leaves
draping shadow over him as he rests against giant oak trunks
holding hands
the roll of his tongue
when he pronounces his 'r's
a momentarily shared glance
gentle clasps on his shoulders
and ruffling of his hair
and caresses of his face
and home. he loves his home
in your arms especially