Inky hair, dark eyes,
and olive skin, same as mine.
Three years older but

perhaps not wiser
(you’re messier, more careless,
have sweeter smiles and

jauntier antics).
I’ll give you good laughter, some
wonkily wrapped gifts,

smear icing on your
cheek, watch you silence candles.
And since I should tell

you this more, I’ll say:
I always love, not like, you,
dear brother of mine.

Congrats on a third
decade’s beginning, thank you
for these lovely years,

and let’s celebrate
a happy, happy birthday.