cloud nine

i met a soft boy. 
even softer than the last. his eyes are calm and his voice low and slow. when he speaks it sounds like maple syrup. thick and heavy and sweet. 
he’s softer than feathers, but weighs as much as a grown man. how can that be? i’m clueless but in awe, staring at a boy so soft he feels like freshly dried linens. warm and clean and welcoming.
i met a boy who’s supposed to swim, but floats like a cloud. 

cloud nine.