Lovesong of the Buzzard

The small boy throwing his body into the music, slowly jerking up, down, left, right, and into himself. His eyes the lightest color of white, while his skin darker than any dark I've ever seen and I move toward him with the tips of my fingers reaching and scraping at the warm cement I feel underneath me just to hold hard to his ankles. Sun kisses its way from the small of my back to my shoulders and neck and ears, face, and lips and I'm not any closer. He closes his eyes, nostrils dilating with the deep breath he draws from the suffocating heated air. His body moves more violently, shudders rolling through his limp limbs, throwing his delicate head back to turn his face to the sun. I reach him and he turns his gaze to me, glaring hard and sharp at me.