Boys, Boys, Boys...





Boys that have silver leprous skin; gaunt cheeks that fill with the inhalations that come through pallid, filmy lips, lips that part only for bequeathing sighs and random osculations.

Boys, from underneath their loosely fitted T-shirts, who have vertebrae protruding and collarbones that could be handle bars. Boys that taste like salt, and smell of sweet, sweet, sundried sweat; boys that are tall but slouch with modest and unsure consciousness of an astounding genius.

Overactive metabolisms, lean and white fur calves. Boys that are all bones and brain and pale moon-white eyelids, with a network of opaque veins throbbing through the tender underside of luminescent forearms.