Who would have thought that your punk roommate Tim, a piercing-obsessed hockey player, could be interested in literature? The answer is no one.

You are lying together on his bed, a book, a collection of poetry and verses resting in his hands, as his soft and relaxing voice fills the room. He is reading you one of Langston Hughes's works.

"Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment Will never let you be."

You watch his lips move as he says each letter with such a cute expression. You've never seen this side of him, you have to admit it's something... new and you like it.

His blue eyes looked into yours as he continued:
"Love Is a bright star Glowing in far Southern skies. Look too hard And its burning flame Will always hurt your eyes..."

Aw, does he really know this poetry by heart?