My brother is made of paper-mâché bones,
And I wonder quietly if you can sue a disease,
As his heart becomes my metronome and the
Next day I can hear it at school, pacing my
Steps and it follows me every day and it never
Seems to just match my heartbeat because my
Brother's heart is made out of butterflies and
Magic and I wonder what the world will do
Without butterfly hearts and paper-mâché
Bones. His hair is the color of young lovers
Kissing in the snow and poetry in the summer
And his eyes are the cool of old coffee that
Spills onto the frustrated writer's heartache
Poetry and his smile could melts chunks of
Ice off hearts until they are as red as his lips
Again and my brother is the most handsome
Boy I've ever met, even when all of his hair
Falls onto my lap like fresh winter snow except
I've never liked it when winter came early.