Griff Graff

I saw the lines of your face

etched into a future so beautiful, 
so overwhelmingly warm that 
for a moment my heart shattered 
into one thousand pieces. 

It was nothing in particular, 
but it was a dandelion sunset, 
sunrise of promised tomorrows. 
"Morning sunshine" and "try some,"
and remember that time when 
your hair brushed your shoulders,
a protective layering not unlike 
the way my embrace was meant
to shield you from the elements. 

Someone sheared his Samson locks, 
but in his eyes was a past, was your
present, a gift to those around you.
You've always been family and when 
you were birthed into this world
we linked arms and our embrace 
was thicker than blood and was 
more sustaining than water. 
Genetics aside, we have GNA and 
terrible puns, the kind that make
your sides ache, your eyes squint. 

What did I do to ever deserve a 
brother so sweet, so thoughtful, 
and how can I ensure in this
rinse and repeat wash we call life
that when the timer beeps 
and the record is clean that 
I'll always have family like you?

He has your inquisitive mind and 
easy smile, a way of accepting and
challenging, not unlike tug of war
but more akin to a dancer.
His past is inexplicably etched into
the crinkles around your eyes.