The Towheaded Boy

I dreamt of a towheaded boy, with a mud that had caked in his hair, beard, and face.

He ran what he called a zoo, but he was the exotic one.  There was only playfulness in his being, and it was salt that I saw when I looked past his beauty.

He was superbly male, and unabashedly unashamed in being so.

I wanted to hear the world in his face. His scars and tattoos sang songs for me, and made me move where the mud and dancing play together.