Bleached bone of white pointed teeth,
taste the snarl of the palest skin drawn thin,
ice has frosted the edges of his face.
Parts lock and glide, take the shape of my idol,
it’s my last stand against large arms, square jaw,
the chill of smooth skin beneath my hand.
My idol’s eyes are light and his eyelashes long,
and shadows in his cheeks,
where I can hide my shy tongue.