Glimpse on a Subway

Did he know he was (almost) perfect? The pretty perfection of his face? No... he couldn't have.

I was suprised- quite honestly- by the fullness of his lips. He was white- as white as new fallen snow- he was a he, yet he had the mouth of some gorgeous Mexican boy.

Cheek bones like steel- hard jawed and strong chined... really a sculptor's dream.

The delicate, silvery frames of his lenses- planted on the perfect slope of his nose.

All wrapped-

In the dullest of clothes: plain, scruffed, blue jeans; simple, faded tee. Over the firm slimness of gorgeous, young male.

A cushion- cut sapphire- wrapped in mouldy newspaper. I think his eyes were pale sapphire.

I saw the book clenched in his hands- a slab of a book. The coarse hunch of his back and awkward placement of his feet- bent funny, bent awkwardly- he never really learned the stance of the 'cool' person.

He was intent on his reading- never knowing he was perfect- never knowing that he was hardly flawed... I guess that was his flaw.