I knew you'd roll your eyes
and I'd answer, "No, really,
listen to me" as I
touched you on the arm,
and then you'd utter a
dismissive laugh squirming
under the spotlight of
my compliment.
I knew this, but I had to tell you
that I thought you were the world's
most beautiful man, endangered
species in protective habitat,
disrupted by my words, so I
fell silent and watched
like a bird lover with
binoculars crouched on
the forest floor.
You were shimmering,
naked in your repose,
chest hairs casting
silhouetting, chiseling shadows
on creamy white skin,
eyes closed dreamily,
lips reciting a mantra
known only to you.
Your fingers caressed the air
hypnotically as you illustrated
your visions in the moonlight,
an esteemed conductor.
You mumbled sleepily,
"When I listen to a song,
I close my eyes and
let my body melt into
the music, become part of it,
let it live through me."
I watched you undulate
to some ancient tribal rhythm
as you went to a secret place.
You were beautiful there--
man inspired, handsome dreamer,
and I was overcome with emotion.
My thoughts unfolded like
a blossoming rose, too beautiful
not to share with the one I love.
They fell out of my lips like petals
and rained over your
masculine form,
tucking you in.
