afternoon walk

i live with a really beautiful person
who appears to be designed from a small puffy cloud.

He rows forward when he walks

like his legs are two oars,

gliding beside me,

upon the clouds

of his two white shoes.

He turns toward me in the clear afternoon

when my knapsack is heavy from the library,

and the sun finds sapphires in his eyes,
and gold flecks in his redwood hair,

and crawls along the creases of his green jacket 

to warm the surface of the quiet lake inside of him
where I often take a dip, and make wishes.