my boyfriend is a goblin

He does not hoard shiny thingsin the dark corners of his room, though sometimes his socksmigrate to unexpected places, a mysterious disappearanceonly to reappear weeks later, crisp and folded, as if by unseen hands. He doesn't have pointed ears, no moss grows on his shoulders, and his skin isn't the colorof damp earth after a storm. His laughter, when it bursts, is bright and warm, not a cackle echoing through caverns. He doesn't trade in secrets whisperedin the twilight, nor does he cast hexeson misplaced keys or slow internet. His magic is in the wayhe makes a perfect cup of tea, or finds the exact right songfor a quiet moment. He doesn't possess a wickedly cunning smilethat hints at mischief and ruin. His smile is open, sometimes a little shy, a gentle curve that crinklesthe corners of his eyes. He isn't driven by a hungerfor souls or stolen dreams. His desires are simpler, a good book, a shared meal, the comfort of silenceunderstood. His breath doesn't smell of sulfuror ancient dust. It smells of coffee, of fresh air from a walk, sometimes a hint of mintfrom toothpaste. He doesn't lure travelers off the pathwith illusions or trickery. He might, however, suggest a detour to a bakeryhe discovered, and I