Enchanted
It was the way he spoke,
steady, unbroken,
a tone that never lost its way.
Or maybe it was the child in him,
curious at every turn,
eyes wide at simple wonders.
It was the way he loved food,
how one offering disappeared
in a single, joyful gulp.
It was the way he saw me,
with care that wrapped itself
around my quiet places.
The way he teased,
the way words failed us
when asked who we were
friends, more than friends?
Something unnamed.
It was the urge he stirred in me
to give,
to offer pieces of myself
without reason.
Perhaps it was his warmth
yes, maybe it was his warmth.