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.