His hair was curly, and it smiled when he did. His heart was too shy to let it relax, so it danced, motionless, and kept you from looking in his eyes. His eyes were arresting, and chiseled by shadows. Makeup or fatigue, who could tell? His eyes did not know how beautiful he was.

But his hair was curly. And it kept you from looking in his eyes. When he spoke, sweet serenity stole your heart. Gone were those shadows! Who was this sweet innocent, so pure, kind, naïve? Oh, Lord, save this sweet innocent, so pure, kind, naïve.

After he spoke, purity troubled into silence. After he spoke, he disappeared into silence. He disappeared behind his eyes, touched by pain. And behind his hair, so curly. Languidly it reached down. Twining about Relishing for the moment where he might smile and it might put on its wanton display once more.