When he smiles, it is easy to forget the proximity of struggle. It is irrelevant, as if his lips had ejected oppression from the realm of sound. White teeth, shining brightly, introducing a reflection of me I had one been blind too: warm, sweet, compassionate, vulnerable and present. I was there. I saw me in his natural illumination. Lips pink, full of flesh, soft with bold truths, those passed down from grandmothers with flesh deep, dark and strong as mahogany. His voice is savory, crisp, inviting like the brown sugar glaze on mother’s favorite baked delectables. His hips are rhythmic, you’ll see his father there, Merengue, Bachata and Son. Go getter. Soul healer. Celebrator of brothers, gurls, boys, kids and those who wish to LIVE! The crush is fresh. Advocate. Expert. Survivor. But indeed worth it. Bicoastal. Interracial. Diasporic Queerness, Blackness & Masculinities. ButchQueen existences, code-switchin’, translatin’ lover of love and grassroots and authentic evolution(s). That’s bae. Intellect. Organizer. Truth-seeker. Man Crush Monday. It’s you. So smile.