He loves taquitos and dancing with me in the moonlight,

holding hands, playing with my hair,

tender kisses and blasting music while cooking,

rubbing my chest when I’m not feeling good and making things with his own two hands.

 

He hates the feeling of inadequacy and the taste of coconut,

the way his hair looks without gel,

when people voice their opinions without considering the other point of view,

people who merge on the freeway without using their turn signal.

 

… And he chose me.