He enchants himself,

As every atom unravels across his field.

Patiently, he watches them sway,

Nurturing their structures.

His glare of certainty invites an inevitable performance-

Where words are volatile in the midst of his gleaming eyes.

Chrome windows, tinted green, refract the purest intention,

Of love and mystery,

Passion and protection,

A golden thread in a dimly lit cathedral.


He turned to me once,

And with an unearthly curiosity, I froze.

For in the face of his exquisiteness, time had transfigured into a meaningless wisp.